Poo on everything

So much to do so much to see so whats wrong with taking the back streets? Well, Smashmouth, it has something to do with the insane drunken people who have only just managed to cohabitate in said back streets, alleys and byways and get rather testy about you just barging into their living room.

I am depressed. Why? Oh, because I woke up and it was a fantastic day and I don't have anything much to do today, a bit of writing, some washing perhaps, I could just sit and do my card system for my books or read a book (wouldn't that be a novelty?) cook, play guitar, go for a walk, find a sharp knife and a rocking chair and spend the day whittling away the hours in the sun. But I have awoken to find that I have about as much motivation to do anything as a turnip. A turnip which has been modified with sloth genes to make sure it doesn't try to run away from the cooks knife.
I call these kind of days "dead days" - they are days in which nothing seems worthwhile, it can take literally hours to perform the most menial and basic of tasks and my emotional capabilities are severely compromised. You know how I can barely care about things much anyway? Well, today, talking to me will be like talking to the wall of an upper-middle class garden shed.
It's a day in which I fail courses or take to the bottle at 10am.
5 years! After 5 years you would think I'd have been able to drive this demon out, don't you? But no. Still hanging around my shoulder blades, gnawing on my spine. Sometimes I feel like the demon is now a part of me, and that desicion I made years ago to get off the fluox and let my mind be my mind whatever that whould turn out to be just left a little hole for which he could burrow into, put down roots, jack in, ect. He's kind of a part of me. Life would certainly be different if... and thats where we stop. Don't second guess it. Don't rewind the spring and hear the same old jerky melody of unknowable futures.

In other news that doesn't concern my mental state: Tommorow I am going to Picton. On sunday I come back from Picton. I do like the ferry and am happy to have a weekend where I won't be working. Isn't it sad that my enjoyment of such an event will be hampered by the fact that at the back of my mind I will be thinking of the small menial tasks I could be doing at home or the fact that I could simply be hanging out with my flatmate who I managed to see today only because I decided to sleep on the couch so's I could see him. We had a brief discussion before he went to work. Doing some calculations, I can tell you that a good nights rest for both of us will be 8 hours total.

I have to write two assignmants today. God I cannot be arsed. Everything should go take care of itse;f, just for an hour.