How I Feel.

Man, today I am just filled with the futility of life.

Am I generally in a crappy mood anyway? Absolutely.

Am I a smidge hung over? Very much.

But even the fact that someone brought donuts in to work this morning was not enough to part the clouds of this funk. And I am pretty sure that is a textbook sign of depression right there. I feel like the imaginary therapist in my head just sat bolt upright, suddenly shaken out of the mundane monotony of our session and asked, “Whoa there, not even donuts made you feel better? Yeah, we need to get you on some Zoloft STAT. ‘STAT’ by the way is a doctor word that I use because I went to medical school.”

I feel like a depressing indie movie that a TV star makes to buy some cred (yeah, I’m talking to you Rainn Wilson in “Hesher”).

I feel like the sales of Lady Gaga’s new album.

I feel like the only octopus at the Octopus High School prom who only has seven legs.

I feel like I brought a knife to a gunfight.

I feel like the very last cookie on a plate at the party that no one wants to eat. Even though the cookie is just as good as all the other cookies and the reason no one is eating it is because everybody is trying to be polite and not take the last cookie. But the cookie doesn’t know that. It just sits there and wonders why everyone thinks that it is not as tasty as all of the other cookies.

I feel like a wedding ring that doesn’t fit anymore.

I feel the way you would feel on a Friday if you know you’ll have to come in on Saturday.

I feel like I am, in fact, the last one of the Mohicans.

I feel like a Jenny Craig spokesperson who gets so fat that she losses her endorsement deal.

I feel like Tiger Woods’ reputation.

I feel like elementary school teachers on Pluto who have to explain why they’re not a planet anymore.

That is how I feel today.

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