I got no time for sorrow

I got a new armoire, dvd player and cd player today, with a jack for my iPod. My dad took me shopping, he's so so nice. It's his birthday next weekend so I got to get him something really nice. He also brought me back some face stuff from California, made with Dead Sea salt, and those make my skin sooo soft. It was really adorable. The armoire has big dark dark brown doors on it, and I'm going to paint it with beautiful designs.

Today was a really nice day. Why shouldn't they all be like this? I don't feel like myself anymore, I feel like I'm never in control of any situation, like some drunk girl spinning around on the edges of everything trying to get everyone's attention but not making any sense and losing respect every minute. I feel like I've gone so out of control and everyone can see it and that I'm not myself and pity me and like I'm embarrassing myself. So I talked to my new roommate about it because I felt like I had made an especially awful impression on her, made her think she had moved in with some hopeless aimless too-much noisy drunk losing her grip girl. And she reassured me that she didn't think that at all. So it would appear that I am just paranoid and a little nuts and probably much too dramatic, but I can stop all that. I am sure that I can go back to my normal self if I simply stop letting myself dwell on all these things and exaggerate them and let them blow up up and fill my head. That's all it is. I'm so tired of being angry and mean all the time. So I'll stop and let my normal, good warm calm cool and collected self back in.

It may help to change jobs, or at least try to do something to improve this one, so I'm working on it.

I just overheard my roommate's friend telling a story about someone they know who said "I'm over depression. I just don't have time for it". And that is exactly what I think. I just have no reason to deal with that shit, or put myself in that silly place. Why bother? I don't need that. I have tons of stuff I love to do, so screw you blues.