Time for some
self-indulgent whining. Downvote here or skip onwards.
I'm sick of my life. I'm sick of pretending to be happy, i'm tired of having to be rational, i'm exhausted from making gestures of goodwill. I'm depressed, possibly clinically, certainly chronically and there's absolutely nowhere to turn to.
I'm more like my partner's flatmate than lover, i don't actually remember the last time i felt loved at home. I have interviews to go to, which is a massive relief because if i don't get work soon, i'm going to be broke, in debt, alone and homeless, just to ice the cake.
There is no respite. There is no calm place to retreat to. I practise my bass frenetically, obsessively, trying to concentrate on notes and fingerings, tempos and fretwork, anything to blot out the overwhelming waves of resentment that fill the flat.
I could go out, drink, submerge myself in alcohol and forget it all for a while but i have to be up tomorrow. Interviews.
Maybe tomorrow will be better. I doubt it.