DOES IT SOUND LIKE A GOOD TIME TO FLUFF IT?
I have been told multiple times, by a number of highly credible professionals other than real doctors, that I present troubling signs of minor depression.
I sleep. I sleep for a staggering number of hours each day and struggle every
morning day for reasons not to add a couple more. But I wonder, perhaps even argue if a real depressed individual would be emotionally capable of the kind of trust and intimacy I share with my dog-hair-embroidered blanket? I also distract myself from my wild discontent in life with the soothing and gentle comfort… of e-commerce. It levels, if only momentarily, my spiritual black hole with mostly delusional clothing that are always one size too small… or one feet too tall. There’s an out-of-place installation in my closet of sequin dresses, and jeans that squeezes my lower half like an outbursting Italian sausage, sounding a silent warning of my concerning mental status.