I am faring poorly indeed.

Dear Diary, 
I am faring poorly indeed. I fear the season has wrought the worst upon me. I am a withered vestige; a dusty vessel. My arms hang loosely like severed anchor chain. Unable to lift myself from despair, I vacillate freely between tears and frustration. How many more months can I go on like this? I am watching myself from above, and I cannot save the man I see. He is hopeless for the time being. His empty carcass drifts pointlessly in a labyrinth; slowly, for the exit is measured in time not distance.

ADD, SAD, and feelin' bad.

I'm all out of meds. It's a long convoluted process to import brain medicine into this country. You have to convert your money to Bitcoin, send the Bitcoin, verify that it was sent... and then... after awhile... you'll get tracking info. After that, you're home free - you'll have your pills in 7-28 days. Needless to say, I ran out. I'm living the catch-22 reality of being an ADD case that needs to plan in advance for certain things.

An additional encumbrance is how immediately defeated I feel when there is no sunlight. The chemical imbalance is enough to toss me off my rocker. I landed on my ass, and that's the position I've been moping from all day.

I wish I could hide myself in a burlap sack until spring, but sadly, my exposed vitriol sometimes comes in contact with innocent bystanders.

Lagoon of bullshit.

In mid-day, I took my last sip of coffee and stood up to get something done. I lost my keys. It wasn't a pretty sight. There were no pretty words. I knew I was at the bottom rung when I punched the mattress.

I heard an anecdote which I believe took place in Texas. It seems that for some reason when iron was hard to come by, people would burn down an abandoned house to harvest the nails. I was considering this approach when I found my keys in a balled up t-shirt. I wish I didn't find them. I might have done better to touch flame to this lagoon of bullshit.