Happy Is So 2005

My new years' bout with depression seems to have arrived like 100,000 tiny flecks of sarcastic and self-deprecating slits of paper littering life's asphalt.

• Days consist of jaunts to the gym separated by twelve hours, showers, and frustratingly scouring Home Depot for signs of life. Ditto for the office.

• The bottleneck in my unpacking process is not so much the anticipated lack of organization coupled with equally anticipated lack of enthusiasm, but moreso the fact that without a kitchen proper or a livingroom proper, one can only unpack so much before one has no place left onto which to unpack.
  
• Therefore one is left with not only a room completely full of homeless boxes, but a room full of homeless boxes covered in drywall dust.
  
• Boxes whose contents, it occurs to me now, were packed so haphazardly that they too are also likely covered in drywall dust.
• Not to mention lungs covered in drywall dust.
• At which point one is left to seriously reconsider quitting smoking in the first place.
  

• With all the moving madness it was only a matter of time before something, pardon the pun, bit the dust. First to go? My iPod headphones (which may or may not have been permanently tinted pink). Left (read: lost) them at the gym the other day and now must workout only to the rhythmic crunchy beats of my knee cartilage.
  

• Until the dust (literally) settles in the condo, I'll be forced to visit my former residence daily to feed my kitty and scoop said kitty's poop.
  
• Has it occurred to me that performing the former less frequently will subsequently result in a less frequent need for the latter?
  
• Yes.

Pissed.