My sadness is changing from ultramarine to light-sucking gunmetal gray. I avoid people because of little changes--the tone of their voice sounded not quite happy with me the last time I spoke to them on the phone, and I can't muster the energy to pay attention, to make the right voices and faces and make sure it's all right. I suspect this exhaustion is from therapy. But, maybe this is me.
Depression is embarrassing because it seems you ought to have fixed it already. Not should be, but is. However, it's good to see it arrive; the better to fight.
New year's resolutions: Take life more seriously and me less seriously. If I win, one is enough.