Unusual slackitude

Ordinarily I'd be on my way to the Plough right about now, but after spending the day at home I don't feel much like shoving myself out the door somehow. The rain probably doesn't help; not only is it cold and wet outside, but my energy level is way down. Besides, if I stay home I might actually get a little more work done, and I might actually get to bed at a fairly reasonable hour and thus be able to get up in time for class tomorrow.

Yeah, I'll just keep telling myself that. Sheesh, it's not as though I have some kind of moral obligation to go out. It really is better from a practical standpoint that I don't. I just seem to get these ridiculous guilt feelings every time I pass up an opportunity to be social. I think it's a lingering reaction to the depression: I fear every time I don't do something to cheer myself up (whether or not I happen to need cheering up) that I will immediately become monstrously depressed, even though that hardly ever happens any more.

Then again, in this case a little bit of the guilt is probably justified, as I doubt I'll be nearly as productive sitting here as I ought to be and that makes me feel like I'm wasting a perfectly good bit of self-sacrifice. But I'll get to sleep earlier. Really I will. And that is important. I just need to remember that.

On a lighter note

I've just remembered something rather amusing in the midst of my lack of productivity. Yesterday some guy from the Tribune, I think, came to photograph our choir rehearsal (he arrived just as we'd finished and so we had to break the music out again so he could catch us singing.) Afterward he got our names, presumably so he could label the picture--though he's not going to have much luck at that since some of us had left during the intervening minutes--and jotted down a few words next to each name so he'd remember who was who. Next to mine he wrote "all black."

Hee.

(He's lucky he didn't photograph us during a performance, when we all dress like that.)