I hate this crap. It's like having PMS for two frigging months - I can never be sure when something is a legitimate concern or whether it's the depression that's making me crazy. I hate hate hate not knowing the base causes for my behaviour.

Well, I have three more weeks before the anti-depressants top me up. That means three more weeks of trying not kill myself or my marriage. I'm surprised at how hard it has become to keep myself from either of those things.

Sorry about the mood. I've spent 6 hours working and I'm scarcely farther ahead than I was before I started. A mountain of marking has yet to go down at all. I am trying very hard not to let this bother me. It's, um, not working.

This weekend was pretty decent, all told. On Friday I spent some time with my fellows at a local bar, and although we did discuss the job, it was a fun time nonetheless. I had some of my baser feelings validated - there's something terribly liberating about the fact that a very experienced teacher called one of my classes "the biggest pack of losers [he's] seen in his life." That I can go in there, day after day, and do things with them speaks well of my character. I guess. Sometimes I think it just speaks of my inability to save myself from myself. I mean, how many times in the course of this journal have I been in seemingly impossible situations that make me miserable? I have a curious reluctance to do anything about the things that make me fundamentally unhappy. Then again, my life tends to flip itself around so frequently that these situations seldom last more than a year.

I just have to remember that one day I'll be happy with no effort at all. Maybe that day won't come until June - but it's coming nonetheless.

Anyway, the rest of my weekend was soothing if not joyous. Went dancing on Saturday with Dirk & the Boy, and was pleasantly surprised by Paul's more than passable dj'ing. I actually stayed on the floor for half a dozen consecutive songs and I just can't remember the last time that happened.

The Boy & I have been trying to figure out how to handle my ongoing depression. Weekends tend to be fairly bad, as my depression and his frustration with it lead to many arguments. Also, I've discovered within myself a deplorable tendency to hibernate even in my own house; I'm so embarassed or unwilling to confront my own mental state that I don't even want the Boy around. I thought I would never give up the comfort & joy of a shared bed, but I've begun to crave solitary sleep, just so I can hide from the world.

Again, I'm trying my best not to kill myself or my marriage. I'm not sure that I'm always succeeding, but I am trying.