I spent today with Marian. We watched DVDs in my room with the curtains closed. I can't think of a way I'd rather slow my brain to a crawl. Media = good, but my ass feels like jelly.
Whereas I've spent the evening, so far, going through a massive amount of writing stuff that's been piled on the carpet for weeks now. I tend to use the floor as a desk. Not as a work surface, I mean, but a place to keep anything I don't want to deal with right away. Which is how I use my desk. Um...
I'm listening to Songs of Leonard Cohen on vinyl. I remember playing this record over and over again when I was last depressed and finding it uplifting. Now, of course, it's depressing.
Surely I have more interesting things to post about?
No?
Fine.
3 comments:
I do that, the listening to music that I used to find comforting when I was depressed, and discovering that it now depresses me. That hasn't happened with books yet, thank god.
Yeah, that's funny. I'm trying to think of a book I associate with depression and failing completely.
Maybe plays would do it for me. I dropped out of a few drama classes when I was depressed. I'm not positive the plays of, say, David Hare wouldn't knock me for a loop. Or Brecht. Or Beaumarchais. Even typing their names has made me feel a bit weird. Blurg.
Agreed with the music-depression-memory thing. I find it actually sort of repulsive.
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