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Paralyzed in the dark

Another day in which I wake up telling myself that this time I'm going to do some of the things I'm supposed to do, and get them done, so I can stop feeling guilty about them, and another night in which I go to bed hating myself for having done nothing. Again. Again and again and again.

I don't know how to force myself to do anything anymore. It's cold and grey and dim, and I sit still in a chair for hours in a row, staring at the computer, or a book, or nothing. And I am filled with bitter disappointment with myself, my life, everything that surrounds me.

This may ultimately be the most compelling reason to leave Seattle. Not the fucked-up economy, not the hideous and overpriced houses, not the snotty ironic hipsters, not the endless stream of painful memories connected with every square inch of ground I've walked across for the last several years. But purely the latitude, which is far enough north that I don't get enough light in the winter.

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