I don't know what's up with me. I'm beginning to think that I'm much less interesting now that I'm not depressed anymore. Does depression actually make people all artsy and creative and interesting, or do depressed people just think they're artsy and creative and interesting? What is it with me that makes me feel like not being tortured anymore isn't entirely a good thing?

I wanted to cut myself the other night and I didn't. But it was the first time since I've been on Zoloft that I'd wanted to. Or... I'd thought about it before, but the other day was the first time that the decision not to do it was difficult. Then I talked to Curtis... two nights ago, I think, and he said that that night was the first time in ages that he had cut himself. Apparently one or both of us is psychic, or something. I don't know. I don't understand how my brain works. But I do know that, Friday night, when Julie and I played in Richmond and then went out for food with Julie's guitar teacher from high school, I very much appreciated the fact that Angela (the guitar teacher) talked about cutting like it was normal. Or... not normal, as in something that everyone does or should do, but normal like wicca or transgenderism or vitiligo or something. Not common, but not bad.

More people should do that. Take note, everybody.

I've listened to a lot of U2 today. Currently I'm listening to October, and I'm realizing (again) that old U2 is really, really good. And I'm also slowly coming to like their latest album, which is kind of weird because I absolutely hated it at first.

I'm hosting Acoustic Sunrise tomorrow, so I have to get up around 4:15. So I should go to bed. I figure as long as I'm asleep before midnight, I'll be okay. I do get paid $45 for this, so it's not like I'm some sort of martyr or anything.

I ate my last veggie burger for dinner tonight. I need to go grocery shopping.

People came over last night and watched Office Space and one of them, named Micah, was hungry, so I made him a cheese omelet and some toast with strawberry jam. Aren't I nice? Or maybe just domestic.

And then today I watched The Hudsucker Proxy and the second half of The Fisher King, which definitely gets better halfway through. Maybe that's why I have such a headache. Considering that I also spent much of today playing Heroes of Might and Magic III, that wouldn't be particularly surprising.

I'm looking forward to work tomorrow. I wish I were going to see Andrea, though... she's visiting her parents this week, in Kansas, where she grew up. Andrea makes work good. She knows things and she's really, really good with figuring out who to talk to about what. (Whom. I know. I'm not fixing it.) But I guess this week it will just be Chris and me. And then next week it will just be Andrea and Chris, because I am out of here. I'm going to Seattle next Wednesday. I guess I need to do laundry sometime before I go. Blah. Next weekend.

The show I did with Julie on Friday was at this lesbian bar in Richmond called Babe's. It was really fun. It's nice to play for a really receptive audience... all our other shows have been at Blackstone's Coffee, where people pretty much go to drink coffee and not to see live music, so I'm used to being ignored. They didn't ignore us on Friday. I hope we can play there again sometime. Our version of "Free Fallin'" with all feminine pronouns went over really well.

Sometime soon I'm going to have to start writing again. I'll need something like 20 pages of fiction to apply to grad programs in fiction, and I think I probably have about eight pages that I consider decent. Maybe that means I shouldn't apply to grad programs in fiction. Maybe I should stick to poetry.

I don't really write poetry anymore, either.

Time for bed.