As a follow up to this rage post from the other day, I have taken a mental health day from work to apply for jobs that will hopefully suck marginally less than the one I have. I woke up this morning feeling refreshed, optimistic andPFFFFTTTTHAHAHAHA no.
I woke up this morning with the same feeling of dread in my stomach as the girl at the end of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre felt when she was being chased down the street by a screeching Leatherface, showered, dressed, picked up my keys, then put them down again, called in sick and went back to bed. I don't know if it's because my depression is flaring up again (spoiler: most likely) or what, but the idea of going into the office was too much to handle.
But there is simply no way I am letting my serotonin-starved brain be the boss of me. It would be easy to shut the blinds, lay in bed with the cat and sleep the day away but that won't unfuck my life. No. So I get my ass up, make coffee, update my resume (which, by the way, is pretty bitching) and I get onto the job sites and I get busy.
I put my oar in for a good dozen positions or so, and I've already gotten two e-mails back. I don't think either of these positions are what I want, but it's a good start. Add to that that I got to tell off Jessica Coen for her Hugo sorry-not-sorry post, I've had a whole pot of (awesome) coffee and I'm making pork chops for dinner (I am going to BRINE them too, oh shit), today has already gone better than it would have been if I'd just gone to the office and spent the day counting the minutes until I could flee to the nearest tavern and give myself alcohol poisoning.
Feeling accomplished, I am going to go do some things I have been neglecting, like cleaning the cat box, wipe up the beer I spilled on the floor of my bedroom three nights ago, and put away laundry. My brain is still telling me to just lay down and forget everything, tomorrow is another day, but I am not listening to the siren call of depression when my immediate surroundings demand more from me than lying down and waiting to die.
Me: 1, Brain: 0. Fuck you, brain.