One more hour to go and I am quietly dreading having to see any new faces today. Any faces at all. Heaven would be to go home, curl up with my cat underneath the puffy warmth of my new comforter, and watch something with a cheesy, chick-flick feel until I dream.

Where does all of this melancholy come from? And why do I sometimes enjoy it more than I do happier times? I feel so content in it sometimes. If my roommate wasn’t so chipper and cheerful, I might get to wallow occasionally. Maybe that is just what I need. To wallow.

What really freaks me out is that, in seconds it seems, I can go from my earlier post…to this one. I suppose that it has something to do with the weather. It is overcast and chilly here and, after such a blissfully beautiful weekend, I guess I have just worn myself out with the cheerfulness. I guess I don’t have any more left for today.

This feeling is like hunger. Only deeper.