I keep wanting to sleep about a hundred hours. More sleep. Then I want to stay awake and listen to music. Less sleep.

Stay awake and listen to Elliott Smith or go to sleep and have dreams that aren’t really dreams but aren’t really nightmares. Just bleak sadness that consumes for what seems like ten minutes but in reality is probably closer to about eight hours.

Dreams about death, dreams about life, about sadness and dismay. About heartbreak and crying and what feels like an eternity of trying.

It’s like everything you’ve been trying not to think of or show for the past 16 hours come suddenly crashing down on you darker than you remember thinking.

I can’t remember the last time I had a remotely happy dream. Happiness seems like a million miles away at times like this. No matter how happy you think you are, depression eats you like a snake.

You might think you’re all big and happy, not matter what happens, depression will dislocate itself and just consume you whole.

So I do want to sleep, but right now, the best thing probably is to keep listening to Elliott Smith because it feels like right now he is the only person who has felt this.

At least I could become a sleep deprived zombie and blame my bad mood on lack of sleep rather than depression.