Even though this is the…let’s see now…third time I have quit smoking in 12 months, it never fails that I end up forgetting how quickly you can go from nawing on the bottom lip to spiraling to the bottom of the well of depression. I remember being surprised that many quitters are prescribed wellbutrin to help with moods/cravings, but I apparently have problems with the institution of antidepressants. I prefer to self-medicate under my own watchful eyes, obvs.
That’s all, really. I’m bummin to an insane degree. As if looking at jobs isn’t depressing enough, I craigslist email them to myself then never apply, looking at the bold letters on the unread messages, one stacked on top of another, each slapping me in the face or alternately reminding me of why I can’t/won’t/shouldn’t get each one.