I was thinking about the future today (always bad news) and I realized that nothing is going to go right. Nothing ever has, so why will it in the future? It sounds a little morbid, but I'm faced with finding a new place to live (again) and it's tough. I'm tired of moving, I'm tired of relying on everyone for every little thing that I need, and I'm really tired that my life lacks the opportunity to grow as a person. At the moment, I feel like all I amount to is a placeholder. I'm just filling in until someone else is ready to take my spot. It's sounds strange, but the metaphor makes sense in my head.
Good writers would use this angst and despair to write. But I'm too angst-y to get anything out. My mind is drawing a complete blank. I would go back to the latest project I was working on before my melancholy struck, but that was specifically supposed to be a comedy, and I don't want to ruin it just because of my mood. I hope I'll snap out of it soon. Depression doesn't work so well for productive times at work either.