I was going to write tonight’s entry from the big computer, but I am receiving worrying communiques from my nether regions and so I thought I would be safer lying down with the fan blowing to cool my fevered brow.

Lately, when I post from my tablet, it is via the official WordPress app. Only took me around a month to figure out that there had to be one.

Because it’s true. There’s an app for that.

Heck… there’s thirty.

And while the app is very slick and easy to use, the one thing it lacks is a wordcount function of any kind. So if you have been wondering why some of my entries have been shorter lately, that’s why.

Without a handy dandy wordcount there on the bottom of my editing window, I can no longer work to wordcount, and that means I am done when I feel likenbsp; I am done.

This has its positives and negatives. On the pro side, it keeps me from just rambling on and on just to get to some arbitrary number of words. So in a crude way, it makes me more succinct.

On the con side, I am not gettng as much of a workout as I used to, and I fear the long term consequences of such a slackening of discipline.

If anything, I should be writing more words a day, not less. I know that, as vital as it is for me to blog nightly, it is not enough to keep me creatively content and satisfied. That was the whole reason I started doing daily videos in the first place.

And I know that my recent sharp upsurge in depression has a lot to do with having a lot of pent up creative energynbsp; really wants out, but my fears and my primal paranoia won’t let them go.

Somehow, I need to drill a hole in that dyke and relieve this internal pressure that pushes me into a dark, angry, resentful “I hate my life” dangerous frame of mind,

Just from typing what I have typed so far, I feel a million times better than I have all day. I feel much calmer and less panicked and angry. This is what makes me feel better. Imagine if I did even more of it!

So why don’t I? The same reason that I don’t do a million other things that I know damned well would make me feel better.

Because knowing what will make you feel better does not make you feel like doing it, at least if you are an emotional cripple like I am. You would think the promise of relief would be more than enough to get you moving towards itnbsp; and you would be right if you were talking about a healthy person.

But I am not healthy, I am, in fact, quite ill with a disease called depression. And that means that my motivational machinery is rusted shut a lot of the time. It takes a mighty force indeed to make me move, and when I stop moving again, the lethargy of inertia sets in and I just rust shut once more.

I totally know that what will make me feel a thousand percent better about myself is investing some of my copious (but suppressed) energies into more meaningful action that creates concrete results.

And way less dicking arund playing stupid video games.

But will that be enough to get me to do it? I don’t know.

Why is it so hard for me to do things to make myself happy?

Must be all that rust.