For a long time, I mourned the fact that I could no longer drive. I used to love driving. Losing that ability was, for a long time, my reason for not going out and doing things. But now, I’ve gotten comfortable with public transportation, and I still don’t go anywhere when I’ve had seizures the day before. I don’t know if I’m chickenshit or wise… or maybe a little bit of both.
Probably the most depressing thing in my life is acknowledging that I can sit on a couch all day long, looking out at beautiful weather, and still feel like I need some sort of excuse to go outside. Like I need an excuse to move. I have a dog. He likes going for walks. I can take him outside whenever I feel like it. And still, I sit here, alone, and not only don’t go outside, but also get very little done inside because it feels like nothing matters.
Oh, Jesus. That sounds frighteningly like depression sneaking back in. Time to keep myself busy.
I’m officially tired of feeling sorry for myself. I’m going to get dressed and take Brisco for a walk, and then do some chores to loud dance music.