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There's a small paper due my first day of grad school, a very small paper, and I have a day now to do it. Even that short a time shouldn't panic me, but it does, a little, because of how long I haven't done the paper. And how I cannot figure out how to write about what I'm supposed to write about. And today is my mother's birthday that I have not yet sent a card or present for. I am only going to call her, and I don't understand why it's been so impossible for me to take a fucking moment out of my busy schedule of nothing and buy and mail a little card on time. It doesn't matter, but it does. I don't know why little things are so hard to do. There's depression I can blame, but it doesn't make me feel any less dismayed. Groceries, laundry, going anywhere in a car. Writing anything I have any aspiration for, and sense of pride attached to. I like to flout the participle rule; it is a stupid rule, and anyone believing in it should be beaten with ...some Latin grammar primer, maybe.
I've been meaning to go to bed for about 2 hours now.
Some days lately, even before I've been to bed I get the sinking feeling it's going to be a bad day. But then I try to think positive thoughts as I go to sleep so that when I do get up, even if it's afternoon I might be in a good mood. I think once it worked, years ago, and since then I've held on to the hope.