In bed, weekday morning

My new sheets are dark and soft. The morning’s light streams onto them and they absorb it all. They cant take anything the sun can throw at them because they are badass. My body warms while a continual cool wind keeps my head comfortable. I am not getting out of bed today. It’s funny. Last night was pleasant. Albertine and I had a drink and watched a movie, Pan’s Labyrinth. We followed it up with insightful (in my book) discourse and some simple time lying in bed together. I left unsatisfied, however, and the brevity of the kiss at the end left me wanting more. I left at 1:15 A.M., on my bicycle, and felt cold, lonely, unsure of the future. I am not happy with this uncertainty.

I am not getting out of bed today. I feel unable to cope, to work, to make small talk with strange Miranda and ebullient Gilberte. I don’t want to talk to my clients on the phone, and I do not want to sit at my desk. I stay here, sometimes asleep, sometimes not. It is quiet in the morning. I enjoy the quiet.

At noon, I think about how many signs of depression I am showing right now. I shrug it off. But then, depression is lame, right? Twenty minutes later I decide to compromise. I will not go to work, but I will, to some extent, be a functioning member of society. I will go to the coffeeshop. I will read, do some light work, and be around people. This feels like it will be a resounding success.