I think there was a bit of a misunderstanding yesterday; it should come as no surprise to any of you that I can’t seem to make myself clear anymore.  It’s like, unless you’re a mind-reader, don’t even bother trying to figure me out, because you can’t.  {Kind of brings new meaning to the name “Poor Kyle,” doesn’t it?  Think how he must feel, living with me all the time, and not being able to read my mind…}

This picture doesn’t mean anything except everything I’m feeling these days—a little nostalgic, a little lonely for green, a little out-of-focus…

I’m sorry I made it sound like I wouldn’t be blogging anymore.  On the contrary: I will be continuing my quest of 5 days/week posting until a) my readers become mutinous and demand I quit, b) Poor Kyle has me admitted to the loony bin, or c) it kills me {which, you know, we really musn’t discredit—think how amazing it would be to go down in history as the first girl who blogged so much that it killed her!}.

The change I ineffectively relayed to you, my understandably perplexed readers (understandably perplexed?  How’s that for an oxymoron?), is that I probably won’t be commenting on your blogs or answering e-mails as faithfully as I normally do.  I’ll still write my own posts, and I’ll still read yours, but you probably won’t know I’ve been there.  The reason I tell you this is not so you’ll say, “Oh, Camille, your comments are always the highlight of my day, so hurry back to sanity, okay?”  Rather, I just don’t like people thinking I’m a blog snob—I’m the least exclusive blog-reader I know, all right?  Please don’t think I’m ignoring you or I hate you or I think you’re fat—I don’t. (And if you think you are, please take comfort in the fact that I have ham hock arms and probably will until the day this blog kills me {as it surely will.})

Glad we got that sorted out.

There is no purpose to this picture other than to convey some sort of abstract mood…  But I’m not even sure what mood it is I want to impart.  Which means I’m really starting to lose it, I think.  Cuckoo!

Since all the best bloggers suffer from depression, I’ve decided to try my hand at it, to see if maybe it will give me just the boost this blog needs to spiral into fame and glory and a regular income.  For my first act as a chronic depressive, I have withdrawn into my mind completely.  I go entire days at school without speaking a word to anyone.  [Actually, this is nothing new.  All the students at school are just as dumb as I am for being enrolled, so why would I want to talk to them?  I never make friends at school.  I never even try.]

Who knows?  Maybe what I need is the hope of another open road—it’s been a long, long time.

Next, I have become moody and irritable, and have mastered the technique of twisting Poor Kyle’s words so tightly that even a sailor couldn’t de-tangle them {again with the “Poor Kyle” sentiments}.  Lastly, I have drawn all the blinds and curtains in the house; I don’t peek outside; I don’t answer the door, or pick up the phone; I don’t even check the weather, because what do I care for clouds and wind?  I am the ultimate shut-in.

All I need now is a prescription for some happy pills, and I’ll be golden.

***Disclaimer:  If you are suffering from depression, please don’t be offended.  I realise this post probably comes off as crass and insensitive.  I am not diagnosed with depression, and I understand that what I am feeling is more like a semester of bad days, which is totally manageable compared to the lifetime of sorrows that some people feel or experience while depressed.  I do believe that depression is real, and serious; I think there’s a difference between feeling depressed and suffering from depression.  I only jest in an attempt to lift my spirits, not to make any statement about the reality or severity of depression.  Although now, after writing this disclaimer, I feel worse than before.  Probably this post will make a lot of people mad.  I hope not.***

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