Watching TV makes me think of the fall of the Roman Empire, the bread, the circuses, the orgies, the vomitoriums. I guess it’s like riding a waterfall [into a cesspool]. TV is an honest-to-God sewer.

But this isn’t the reason why I’m writing here. I think I really should be examined for a possibly physiological cause for depression. It disturbs me that the St. John’s wort works so well. Now that I stopped using it, the bleakness is coming back. Am I nothing but a Clockwork Orange?

I mean, I suppose it’s not completely inappropriate depression. I guess twhen you hear that friends of yours are getting married, it makes you want to put your life in perspective. Weddings and funerals. Damn.

Yeah, it doesn’t help that I used to be obsesssed with the bride-to-be. I dreamt of her last night. Nothing perverted or anything. Just a dream of still having a chance.

OK, let’s start writing this down now, once and for all.

[My obsession with her] is the reason why I feel like I’ve wasted a good chunk of my life. I mean, realistically, it’s all obvious now. I didn’t have a snowball’s chance in Hell. So I’m trying to come to terms with all those worthless nights of pining, all those pointless tears.

[There is still a part of me that thinks] it would salve my soul somewhat if she told me there [had been] a glimmer of possibility once upon a time, except I fucked it up, or didn’t try hard enough. I mean, it would suck, but at least I wouldn’t feel like such a [delusional] worthless pile of shit.

…If the truth were that I was completely crazy, well, I’d rather not know.

Honestly, [I’d rather continue fantasizing that there had been a chance, but odds are that it was all in my head.] I’m afraid of accepting [the idea that it was all a total and complete delusion] but [I guess that’s exactly what I’ll have to accept.]