As I narrowly avoided a certain ephemeral housemate today, by escaping to a favorite housemate's room, I heard his bizarre trilly falsetto waft through the front door and down the hallway. His mantra: "Depression! Depression! Is gonna kill me!" With an creepily chipper disposition. How much can you really pity someone who flaunts their inner turmoil like a peacock feather? Hopefully his "Eastern Tour of Pompous" (as a certain friend likes to refer to it) will implant the enlightening seed of being humble.
Other than, I think things are working for now. I've gained at least 8 complimentary "you eat like crap" pounds that I guess I should work on casting off. But the winter coat of fat could also serve me quite well.