Worthless Piece of Garbage

Our house is an absolute disaster area. It’s not a really fun place to be right now either. Stephanie seems content enough as she finishes up the last of her schoolwork. Christmas is looming and that means presents are coming. I should be happier than I am. Oh, fuck this. I am tired and I don’t even feel like constructing meaningful paragraphs.

Each day I wake thinking I can’t get any lower and each day I surprise myself. There are moments throughout the day when I feel myself picking up just a bit, but they are fleeting.

One might ask the question, “Does he just enjoy being unhappy?” Maybe that’s it. Maybe I’ve become so accustomed to it that whenever I’m not unhappy it feels unnatural.

I want to snap out of it. I’m trying. It’s not working.

I’m always low in December. That’s well documented. I can only hope that January brings better tidings.

Or something.

Ugh. I’m off to bed.