writer's block is god's way of making pms last all month long

you know how some of you have depressed alter-egos? depressteffi and depresseni and my-name-is-multiple-personality-hear-me-roar, or what have you.

well, i don't.

and for a little while there i tried to think of one or pinpoint the moment depressedrachel showed up but then i realized that it was never going to happen. mostly, because depressedrachel? she's my default state. it's like there's this undercurrent of fearworryparanoia in everything i do and say. an undercurrent that's a little more prominent today.

there's no real reason for it either. nothing particularly bad happened. and i have my whinier moments, but it's not like my life is completely horrible. my brain's still on when everything else is off. and it's going: you will try and try and always fail. it's going: give up now, in the style of bitchy fortune cookies everywhere. mostly it's going: why can't you do any better? there's kids writing books and founding businesses and curing cancer right now. hurry up. 

pressure is a ticking clock, is an empty page, is the thousand and one ideas you can't articulate and the words flying through your head like birds on the wind.

i'm tired. this is unedited and i'm ignoring the little red lines that safari's putting up under my typos. i think i'm going to watch a little comedy central to cheer myself up. south park's still on.

i read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.