Dangerously unmotivated. It's not for lack of things that I desperately need to take care of; more the generalised lack of faith that taking care of them will amount to anything, either in the short or the heat-death-of-the-universe timescales.

(At least half of that has to be the fallout from the lingering suspicion that I am not the one who screwed up regarding the change-of-address notice And Yet. It's not as if I had much ability to suspend disbelief about the probability of people actually doing their jobs before.)

Not sure what to do. I need therapy; theoretically I'm now in a position where I could obtain something resembling therapy; obtaining said therapy would involve finding the motivation to sort out at least one of the things I can't find the motivation to sort out. And that's setting aside previously-mentioned hangups about having any underlying sense of self-worth regarding the probability of receiving therapy. It's the usual Brainweasel pickle, IOW...

Tags: brainweasels
feeling: gloomy