Thought about walking depression today as a melodramatic parallel to walking pneumonia. Kind of clever, right? Like something that could slither into an un-ironic teen drama ten years ago? Or a rerun of "Sabrina, the Teenage Witch", w(H)i(T)ch is a comedy?

At home. Today:
-woke up
-watched "Back to the Future" on OnDemand, relished in the glory of eating food I did not purchase
-watched 10 minutes of "The House Bunny", 5 minutes of "American Pie 2", 3 minutes of "Romancing the Stone"
-drew four fingers of my left hand as part of a larger art project
-put on Led Zeppelin record. Enjoyed record player.
-Painted nails crimson
-Carried around Jonathan Lethem's "Fortress of Solitude", positive the moment would come when I would sit down and read it cover to cover.

What is it about not HAVING something to do that makes me sink into deep, DEEP slug mode? That's not even true. I have loads I could be doing. And perhaps my body is insisting on a recuperative stasis period that my mind's too flighty to commit to. It could also be the weather. It just seems that there are two magnets in this house: ambiguous attic and darkened television room. I must somehow assert myself in order to break what feels like a twisted cycle.

NOT TO SURVIVE, BUT TO LIVE!