Sunday, February 10, 2013
Petting the Black Dog
To be clear, there was no you-know-what, not even a kiss, but the unspoken was spoken, let's put it that way. It was good, it felt right, but afterwards I was mortified and felt that I'd betrayed my friend's trust. I saw that friend every day that week, and we went out again on the Thursday -- to the same place, no less -- and I have not been so confused in a long time. I feel like a teenager, and as everyone knows, teenagers are idiots.
Then on Friday I couldn't get out of bed. I know what you're thinking, you filthy deviants, but I was alone; save your high-fives. I've had cases of depression -- or what seems very much like it -- before, but I've just sort of got on with things; this time I was unable to move and made myself two hours late for work. Again, mortified. I don't think it was related to the romantic entanglements of the days before, rather it was something that had been coming for a while. It had passed by the afternoon, but the depth of the funk is still quite a shock, even in hindsight.
So that's where I am right now. I've been keeping myself busy and diving into some outstanding work, as that seems the best way to take my mind off things; having everything go a bit bonkers seems to do wonders for one's productivity.