shake that cola drag

The office-block persecution affinity.

Wednesday, November 06, 2002

In deep, gloomy, procrastinating depression. I am convinced that I can't do anything right. I have no discipline for schoolwork, housework, or paid employment. I have, at best, mediocre abilities, and am generally an embarrassment to all who know me. I will never amount to anything, despite being at an age when I should have amounted to more than half a something. And I'm ugly, too. (I should go and write angst-ridden poetry in a diary now about how awful third form is. Jesus, what am I, 14? I can't even be *depressed* like an adult.) (Just realised that I'm dissing myself for not being depressed *maturely* enough. Only I could manage this kind of immensely dorkish self-loathing.)

Of course, I feel like this approximately every 32 days, so it might be hormonal. Ya think?

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