November 30, 2009

I am depressed. I have no idea what I'm doing in Seattle, or in general. When I made the plans to come here, I was half-mad with grief after Megan moved out. I'd been planning to restart our relationship once I got here, but things haven't worked out that way.

For reasons I don't really understand, Megan volunteered to fly out to Madison, then help me drive to Seattle. The night I went to pick her up, I was physically crushed by stress and weariness. I was so exhausted that the only joy I felt in waiting for her arrival came in the form of gratitude for any excuse to stop packing.

When she walked out of the terminal, bag in hand, she looked as haggard as I felt. Probably selfishly, I had expected that she'd have done her makeup, or her hair, or something to make herself look good. She was wearing the shapeless brown polo required for her massage clinic hours and no makeup. As she walked towards my car, not smiling, I felt only a vague worry that I was too dangerously exhausted to drive back to the empty apartment we used to share. Looking back now, it was in that moment that I realized that our romantic relationship was gone forever.

We made the drive together, which was uneventful and extremely expensive. I've been here for nearly a month now. I have a storage locker, a borrowed bedroom, no job, and very little else. I spent two hours on Monster today without finding a single job I was qualified for, or hadn't already applied to. The rest of the day was spent obsessively searching for an SD card reader I've lost, sharing a joyless meal with my roommates/hosts where the only brief topic of conversation was the lunatic who murdered some cops yesterday, and lying on the floor staring at the ceiling fan blades.

At the moment, I'm listening to Elliott Smith's Needle in the Hay. It's part of my oh-so-pleasant depression mix. I've been working on perfecting it tonight.