"Look, Ma! I cleaned my room!"

Or, at least, I started to yesterday. I'm not done yet, though that's not because my room is a destination for Toronto's garbage (but isn't everywhere?!) My room, despite the clutter, still was fairly neat. So what's taking so long, you ask? (Or maybe you don't because, really, cleaning is far from being the most exciting of subjects.) I'm organizing along my way. A clean, organized room. Good for what ails 'ya! Just don't make me dust (stirring that shit up just aggravates my allergies; if it sits, I'm generally not bothered by it, even though it looks really bad.) I'll do windows instead.

I'm not a neat-freak. Really, I'm not. The only room I'm anal-retentive about is the kitchen, but that's because I'm a germophobe, not a neat-freak. There is a difference.

But why is any of this of note? Well, that's because it took a colossal effort on my part to get motivated. All I wanted to do yesterday was curl up in bed to read/sleep. And I've noticed that I've really been on edge lately. More anxious than usual. Part of it could be the stress of the job hunt and the wait for marks; however, in light of my feelings yesterday, I think all of this is symptomatic of the depression. I don't think I'm quite out of the woods.

I hope I don't end up completely relapsing.