I write this very personal entry because I know that I’m going to get through this. I will look back on this and see that the world isn’t a horrible place, and no personal hardship is insurmountable.

In the past few days, I haven’t had a manic moment to myself. I don’t particularly care for things to be appealing, alluring, or exciting. I have no genuine want for entertainment apart from that of which have been forced upon me by the entreaties of friends or family. I have no interest in making things look, taste, feel, smell good nor do I have the energy to pass judgement. I am seriously questioning why I get up at a merciless hour to serve developers who take for clamor my assistance yet find it uncivil when I counsel them blithely and bluntly.

My indecision is getting the best of me and I’d like to rationally figure it out, but I want to blame it on forces beyond my logical control. I’m not blaming the world for my problems because too many people confuse the lives they make for themselves for “the world”. No, I’m placing blame on things hindering my production of testosterone, or T. T is the hormone of want and desire, it aids your brain to do the aforementioned tasks that I’m refusing to do. Boldness and confidence are bolstered by T and I have jokingly blamed moments of weakness on my (unmeasured) level of T. I don’t have sexual problems or any signs of my pubescence waning, so I’m producing enough to get by as a seemingly normal human male. I’m just asking for a boost of T to get me over my flat sense of everything.

Now is the time of year where waking up is even more of a struggle knowing that there are cold winds and various forms of rimy precipitation ready to make the day worse than it already is. Fatigue and want of convenience stifles my creativity and I walk out the door looking not as the fashion plate that I would like to be, but more like an outmoded university professor of arcane subject matter. I have taken to wearing a sweater and shirt combination which in the dreary light of the morning is acceptable, until it is further examined in the fluorescence of my cubicle.

Looking around the office it is hardly an offense, in fact it is a welcomed change of pace compared to the wrinkled shirts and pants of the nerd army that sit amongst me, but this is no excuse or my behavior. I need to stop wearing this safe and predictable uniform.