Enough's enough. I say that often enough, but I don't stick to it. I really mean it this time. I have to. I need to get on with my life. I wasted last week moping around on the couch, staring at the television, getting drunk, getting up the next day and moping around and nursing a hangover. I have things I need to do and things I want to do. Today is the first day of the rest of my life. A cheesy thing to say, but it's true. I need to clean puke off my bedroom floor. I need to do laundry and them sort through all the mail in my room to see if I have that missing T4. I need to make myself a couple of meals today. I wonder if my mom is going to call again today. I don't know if I can do that again yet. There are some things you just can't talk to your mother about without crying. I'm failing; sometimes, at what it is I attempt, sometimes at even making the effort in the first place. I can't let the depression set in. It's trying to. Sadness I can live with, but this looming depression is threating to destroy any ability I have to cope. It makes me just want to sleep. In fact, even though I just got up, I think I'll have a nap before getting up again and making coffee and eating cereal and starting my chores. I have to get up early tomorrow, ready to work, and hope the phone rings, but still, I have all evening to do the stuff I plan to do (and will ultimately fail at doing).

I'm only human. What do you expect?