I saw The Bieb on the View the other day. (Shut up, I was at the doctor's.) He combined the stage presence of a microphone stand with the lyrical grace of Randy Savage rapping about Slim Jims. The tweenaged jailbait in the audience fawned like the destined-for-failure-or-prostitution social blunders that they are. The entire show was like an informercial for the necessity of blowjobs. Good god I hated that simpering pseudo-shit.
Which leads me to something entirely unrelated: Zoloft like a motherfucker. It's nice to feel human again, although it's up for debate just what that means for me. I'm still the same old surly git I ever was, but at least I'm comfortable with it now. Nothing's worse than going through life with your own brain telling you you're going to be a fuckin' letdown, or worse, that you already are. It's difficult to describe chronic depression to someone who hasn't had to deal with it, but the best I can relate it is like you're constantly fighting against your mind; it's telling you to give up, go back to sleep, to stop trying, etc., and you're doing everything you can to ignore it. Some days it's a little too convincing, others it's so much background noise, but it's always there.
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