update

I'm a week into following my own advice and I'd say I'm doing pretty well. Went to TWO happy hours, the gym three times, called my sister, knit a scarf, tried out a new existential approach to love, and have thus far stayed away from chicken.

So why, then, has this general feeling of malaise and Angela Chase-esque angst refused to go away? Could it be because I haven't yet cleaned my room? More likely it's because it's snowing and the barista at this coffee shop likes to play Elliott Smith and Leonard Cohen back to back.

gah.