It seems too much. If I was dedicated, I'd be fine. If I was dedicated, I would be able to finish ahead of the deadline, sleep better, have better mental health, actually make something of myself. I'm content with my chosen path. Isolated, peaceful, simple. All the drama I need I can create using words and imagination. All the love I want I can bestow upon my characters, who I will subsequently destroy to ensure they too know the way the world works. If I tried, I could do incredible things. I I cared, I could actually create. If only.

My lack of motivation really bothers me. I mean, if I even expended 3x the very little effort I do now, I'd be completely in control. I just don't want to. I don't have a reason to, when I can get by on less. Meh. I'm not depressed anymore. I haven't been depressed in quite awhile. I've just been... this. I've had relatively minor lows and highs, but nothing like I used to have. I guess I've stabilized to a gray line. Go me.

(You'll all be happy to know my novel is quite a bit more humorous than my blog. So... yay.)