jimmickwatersmith (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
jimmickwatersmith) wrote2003-03-17 11:06 am
jimmickwatersmith) wrote2003-03-17 11:06 am
Fact: Mr. Henry drives a Jaguar
Yarrr, Happy St. Patrick's Day, yarrr.
There's a feast at my house today. A St. Patty's Day feast. Arranged by two of my roommates. Which will be attended by many people. Which I'm afraid I won't be able to attend seeing as I fucked up.
I fucked up man, yeah I fucked up shit man, yeah I did. I fucked up a lot, again. I didn't go to my classes man. I missed about 2 weeks of classes man because I was in bed. What was I doing in bed? Nothing. Everything. Man, I fucked up.
The thing about depression is that on one hand it takes a while to go to sleep. I keep thinking depressed things and, no matter how tired I am, I just can't sleep. I think about things like my future and how there's no hope for it. I think about how I really don't want to do anything with my life, but even if I did, I wouldn't be able to accomplish anything because I'm such a fuck up. I think about how I'm robbing my parents for drug money and booze money and college money. I think of the chances of me ever getting laid again and how slim they are. Then, usually around 5 or 6 in the morning, I finally fall asleep.
Until 5 or 6 pm the next day, when I've been up for 3 or 4 hours laying in bed. Thinking about how I don't want to get out of bed. Thinking about how I don't want to see anyone and I don't want anyone to see me. Thinking about how I don't want to answer any questions. Thinking about how tedious life is. Thinking about how there's really nothing to be awake for. Thinking about all the classes I've missed and how much work I'll have to do to make up for it.
Then I get up, shower if I'm motivated. Brush my teeth if I'm really motivated.
Then the weekend comes and I drink. I drink a lot, or get too drunk too easily. I embarrass myself. I do careless and dangerous things. I do pushups on broken glass. I drive to places I don't need to go to. I don't remember anything. Sometimes I snort cocaine. Sometimes I eat mushrooms. No matter what I do I end up hurting myself and others.
This happens on Friday, usually. Then Saturday and Sunday I recover. Get my bearings straight. Apologize to those I've harmed. Buy a new rug and throw out the one I puked on. Go to the laundromat and clean my roommate's bookbag that I defiled with vomit. Feel like shit. Promise to start anew. Go to bed on Sunday. After the Simpsons. After Malcolm in the Middle.
At 5 o'clock. AM. Skip Monday's classes. Wake up at 5 o'clock. PM. Ad infinitum.
When I do go to classes I'm paranoid. That the professor will call on me and I won't know anything. That I missed an important announcement, a change in the syllabus, a rescheduling of a test. I'm going to see some girl that I hit on, that I badgered, that I molested with drunken abstract thought. I lay low. I see people I think I may have spoken with but am not sure. Dozens of unsure eye contacts.
When it's good, it's fine. When it's bad, it's worse.
But week by week I'm more and more certain that Malcolm in the Middle is the best show on television at the present time. I like it far better than I like the Simpsons, which I'm afraid has passed its prime and is somewhat tired and old. As disappointed as I was to see Seinfeld cancel itself, the episodes toward the end of the series didn't have the genius of the episodes mid series. Same goes with the Simpsons, which I haven't really enjoyed since high school. Bar none, Malcolm is the best sitcom on television. Bar none.
Fuck shit.
There's a feast at my house today. A St. Patty's Day feast. Arranged by two of my roommates. Which will be attended by many people. Which I'm afraid I won't be able to attend seeing as I fucked up.
I fucked up man, yeah I fucked up shit man, yeah I did. I fucked up a lot, again. I didn't go to my classes man. I missed about 2 weeks of classes man because I was in bed. What was I doing in bed? Nothing. Everything. Man, I fucked up.
The thing about depression is that on one hand it takes a while to go to sleep. I keep thinking depressed things and, no matter how tired I am, I just can't sleep. I think about things like my future and how there's no hope for it. I think about how I really don't want to do anything with my life, but even if I did, I wouldn't be able to accomplish anything because I'm such a fuck up. I think about how I'm robbing my parents for drug money and booze money and college money. I think of the chances of me ever getting laid again and how slim they are. Then, usually around 5 or 6 in the morning, I finally fall asleep.
Until 5 or 6 pm the next day, when I've been up for 3 or 4 hours laying in bed. Thinking about how I don't want to get out of bed. Thinking about how I don't want to see anyone and I don't want anyone to see me. Thinking about how I don't want to answer any questions. Thinking about how tedious life is. Thinking about how there's really nothing to be awake for. Thinking about all the classes I've missed and how much work I'll have to do to make up for it.
Then I get up, shower if I'm motivated. Brush my teeth if I'm really motivated.
Then the weekend comes and I drink. I drink a lot, or get too drunk too easily. I embarrass myself. I do careless and dangerous things. I do pushups on broken glass. I drive to places I don't need to go to. I don't remember anything. Sometimes I snort cocaine. Sometimes I eat mushrooms. No matter what I do I end up hurting myself and others.
This happens on Friday, usually. Then Saturday and Sunday I recover. Get my bearings straight. Apologize to those I've harmed. Buy a new rug and throw out the one I puked on. Go to the laundromat and clean my roommate's bookbag that I defiled with vomit. Feel like shit. Promise to start anew. Go to bed on Sunday. After the Simpsons. After Malcolm in the Middle.
At 5 o'clock. AM. Skip Monday's classes. Wake up at 5 o'clock. PM. Ad infinitum.
When I do go to classes I'm paranoid. That the professor will call on me and I won't know anything. That I missed an important announcement, a change in the syllabus, a rescheduling of a test. I'm going to see some girl that I hit on, that I badgered, that I molested with drunken abstract thought. I lay low. I see people I think I may have spoken with but am not sure. Dozens of unsure eye contacts.
When it's good, it's fine. When it's bad, it's worse.
But week by week I'm more and more certain that Malcolm in the Middle is the best show on television at the present time. I like it far better than I like the Simpsons, which I'm afraid has passed its prime and is somewhat tired and old. As disappointed as I was to see Seinfeld cancel itself, the episodes toward the end of the series didn't have the genius of the episodes mid series. Same goes with the Simpsons, which I haven't really enjoyed since high school. Bar none, Malcolm is the best sitcom on television. Bar none.
Fuck shit.
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