August 22, 1999.

No energy for anything. I wish I could attribute it to the sickness, but I'm inclined to believe it's depression more than anything else. People I used to talk to aren't returning my phone calls. There's a gathering tonight; ironically scheduled for the night I leave the city. Hoorah.

I think I'm afraid that nothing will ever be fun again. Even bantering with the Boy is losing its' flavour, as he's the only voice I hear these days.

I should probably go camping with the counsellors this weekend. Then again, I stand a good chance of depressing everyone. Would you want to be in a social gathering with Marvin the Paranoid Android?