I don’t know about this low grade depression anymore. It’s more like physical suppression of all creativity and energy.

Brain: check the mail

me: screw the mail

Brain: OK

Body: but I want to go outside and at least sit for a while

Me: are you high? It’s hotter than the devil’s crotch crickets out there, and my skin itches all the time, anyway

Body: OK

I’ve more or less stopped watching TV except for baseball. Social media is my go-to for mindless entertainment. I think so little of myself anymore that even when friends engage, I feel unworthy of their attention and hurry to brush them off. Writing even this much feels more intrusive than a pap smear and just as uncomfortable.

So, procrastination is a symptom. I have endless creative tools at my disposal, and I sit. Or sleep. I did start working on my retirement goals, and one of them is to have an extra hundred dollars a month. I started two small investment accounts that in five years, will yield about two hundred dollars a month if I continue to set aside money now. Passive income has become the mantra of the retirement world. I’ve come to embrace it myself, even though my funds are extremely limited. Anything I do creatively is just gravy-or casino- money. My soap is still here, my body butters are waiting to be made, and it comes down to willingness. Writing this down serves myself notice that I literally have my dreams at my fingertips and to just do it.