Sometimes I think I want to be a hermit. I'd do pretty well as a hermit. I would just need McDonald's or Jack in the Box to start delivering, because there are times when a body just needs fast food fries.
I don't want to go outside, I don't want to shower, heck, I don't even need to talk to someone right now. I am perfectly happy holed up in my house. I am cleaning and organizing very slowly. It's a wonderful way to pass the time. My goal is to eventually organize my desk. I don't think this has ever happened, at least, not since junior high, and especially not since I started paying bills. This is a monumental goal, organizing a desk. I fear it may be impossible, but I shall try nonetheless.
Heck, I certainly have the time to do it. Especially since I can't bring myself to leave the house. It's not fear, it's the depression. My depression is like a low-grade fever, not really life-threatening, it just kinda hangs there in the background. It doesn't really have to stop me from doing anything, but it's an excuse.