Fucking telephone company fucked up my telephone line last night. (Yes, as one of the lowly ones, I can only afford to connect to the Internet using dial-up. Yet another reason to be depressed. I wish they could provide free Internet access to individuals who receive SSI or SSD. Starting with me. :) ) So I couldn’t log in to write any entries. Apparently they just fixed it, since my telephone magically works again.

Life still depresses me as much as it ever has, although I think I feel a little better ever since I started writing this journal. I get this weird embarrassing feeling whenever I look over what I wrote here in the past. “I wrote that? What a whiny little baby!” I guess that’s because it’s a snapshot of what I wanted to express at that particular time. In the future, where I may have wizened a little, past journal entries would look embarrassing and foolish.

That may not be the real reason, though. If I met myself on the street, I would think that I was one weird motherfucker. I can only say that I’m a product of my environment. When I grew up, my environment was a vacuum. My neighborhood’s environment only influenced me during the time I was in school. I almost never played with the other kids. Just thinking about it terrified me. Ergo, if my writing style (or anything else I do, for that matter) looks bizarre, it’s because the things I learned at school, like reading and language arts, were the only things with which I could occupy my mind. As another example, everyone in my neighboorhood spoke with a unique accent, but I never picked it up because I never left home. When I went away from home to college, whenever I told others where I was originally from, they would say, “But you don’t have that accent!”

In other news, I visited my urologist a few days ago. There I managed to do probably one of the most brainless things a human being has ever done. The first thing I had to do once I saw the doctor was to urinate into a cup. So, I mindlessly traipsed into the bathroom, intending to do just that. Instead, in a preposterous move, I urinated into the toilet bowl instead of the cup. This was one of the most embarrassing and idiotic things I’ve ever done, not just because of what I did, but because I don’t have a single explanation or excuse for it.

The future does not look bright (people with depression tend to have that in common). I still feel a burning sensation every time I urinate, and they find blood in my urine every time they test for it. Instead of turning my brain off earlier, if I had enough sense to give them a sample to work with, I’m sure they would’ve found blood in it too.

Well, we’ll see what tomorrow holds. Nothing’s going on in the future for me except for a barrel full of doctor’s appointments. The excitement never stops! Stay tuned for the latest updates!