I've (so far) spent the entire weekend holed up in my apartment, puttering around, making half-hearted attempts at cleaning up. Last night I didn't go to the party I was invited to, and instead just stayed home, lay in bed, and felt lonely and sorry for myself. I know I'm cutting myself off from people, I can see that, but I just can't seem to pull myself out of this anti-social funk I'm in.
It's ironic that the only place where I seem to feel comfortable communicating is here, hiding behind my passwords and firewalls, shielded from messy, cruel reality by my computer screen.
I guess it's time to pick up the phone and start de-funking myself. First phone call goes to Sister Thérèse. Second goes to my Mom to tell her yes, I'm still alive and no, I haven't dropped off the face of the earth. And then maybe a few long-delayed emails to other family members and friends.
UPDATE 6:30 p.m.: And the funk is gone.
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