Not my day. Because 'My Day' sounds like it went as I wanted it to.

I woke up at two in the afternoon, feeling less like rough and more like ill-fated hedgehog rolled into the road.

Why? You may ask. Why are you so damn lazy?

I'm not lazy, I'm tired. I sleep when I don't want to be awake and when I'm tired. I don't sleep just because I can. I'm tired all the time these days. That's how I'd describe a bad case of clinical depression. It feels like being thoroughly tired, like.. all over. Everything you feel is exhausted and everything you do is exhausting. Commiting yourself to doing anything when you don't feel like it feels like an emotional hazard. There aren't any strong emotions, not really. More like tiny breezes or sparks next to a tidal wave - hardly the most noticeable thing.

Those are the bad days, anyway.

Today wasn't a bad day, I suppose. It was a day that I'll forget about by the end of tomorrow because it'll blend in with a whole army of other days that amount to nothing glorious.

I spent last night nursing a God-awful headache whilst doing the whole 'Jaded' thing. I watched TV without taking any of it in, listened to sad music, looked at photos of times when I actually saw my friends - or anyone - more than once every three weeks, re-read old conversations that made me smile and let out a big. sigh.

This morning? I woke up and baked a cake without any of the pleasure I usually get out of cooking. I watched the end of Marley & Me with Cleo and had a little cry because it reminds me of Zebbie, who I miss more than anything. I cancelled an appointment with my psychologist (yeah..) because talking doesn't help in the slightest, I sat in my room and stared at the ceiling, made plans that made no sense. Nothing much of anything.

The plans were my favourite part of the day.