Stream of Consciousness

I woke up early to do this walking workout thing with my dad this morning. I was in a miserable mood and just didn't feel like doing it, so I gave up halfway through. Harold the hedgehog fell off the monitor and is laying helplessly on his back. He looks like I feel. I realize the quality of my writing has gone downhill along with the quality of my mood. I'm not currently taking an antidepressant and that needs to change. No guarantees on how long this will last. Could be another week, could be the next couple months. My niece is great, but loud. The words "Aunt Bekah has a headache" have no meaning to her. I wore a skirt to dance class, changed into pants (to dance in), left the pants on till I got home, then put a different skirt to go out with my dad, and then changed back to pants when I got home. My motivation to put any effort into my appearance has hit rock bottom. Looking nice tends to make one feel nice, but nothing I can think of would be more uncomfortable than feeling nice. Welcome to bipolar disorder. We're loony, but lovable. Well, I guess that would depend on who you ask. Whatever. I just started the last four sentences with 'W.' I had wanted to shower and dry/flatiron/pincurl my hair tonight, but it's not going to happen. I think I'm going to bed. Another useless day is coming to a close.