Lately I've been entertaining this High Fidelity-style chicken-or-egg inquiry regarding my disposition. Which came first--the malcontentedness or the lethargy? Am I unhappy and thus unable to get shit done, or is my listless and unmotivated mindset the catalyst for my depression? This is some deep fucking shit, readers. I can remember--with some haziness and slant, I'm sure--a time when I was deeply involved in my academic duties, mainly as a kind of nebulous regimen whose goal I trusted would materialize in due time. And yet I was no more or less happy than I am now, as I recall. Sometimes I make steps forward in some endeavor that is either immediately satisfying or, I imagine, will produce an effect conducive to future satisfaction. For any number of reasons, these efforts peter out swiftly, and I'm left in the aborted remains of personal growth. I use this as an excuse to feel bad, and sometimes drink, which works, I guess. I don't doubt that this constitutes a lifestyle for some. I just wonder if evolution in any measurable form will present itself at some point. One can't help but expect to be "thrown a bone," as the lexicon goes.