Malaise and Disinterest

        In the interest of saving those who know me the trouble and annoyance of reading about my problems in a more public forum (read: Myspace/Facebook/Twitter), I have created this blog.  Hereafter no one will be subject to reading my ramblings accidentally and can not accuse me of stealing moments from their life, however unintentional it may be.  That being said I am going to bypass whining about the one thing I really want to whine about in an attempt to fool myself into believing that it isn't happening in my life right now. Oh sweet denial.  It goes without saying, or typing, that I am in a funk; a funk that will not be getting better any time soon.  I have filled my schedule, listed unattainable goals through pages of my personal journal, tried both staying in and crying and going out in hopes to distract but nothing seems to work.  Luckily for all of you out there I have reached the point where my emotional distress is that of the title of this post.  The point where I use big words and type as though I am a professional while listening to Mozart and steadfastly pledge that if all I want to feel is icky-ness then I shall simply not feel at all until my emotional self has stopped being such a menace, as if I am teaching a petulant child a life lesson.  So welcome to the documentation of my therapy, I promise I am way more fun in person than I am in type.