Its actually almost impossible for me to stay depressed. Some people would say that's a blessing. My mother is greatly comforted by the fact that on most weekends I can be seen going around the house and doing my chores singing (albeit off key) like I'm some kind of Disney princess. The truth is I can't help it. I live with the eternal pessimist (my father) and the eternal realist (my mother) and the eternal grump (my sister). Toss in the interchanging house students who range in personality from social recluse to debonair metrosexual and I think its clear that somebody in this family has to be all giggles and sunshine. (I can see most of my friends rolling their eyes at that last statement) but the reality is that, comparatively anyways I actually have a relatively sunny disposition.
Anyways, like I said above, some people would say that my chirpiness is a blessing. Those people clearly don't have an artistic temperment. They don't get the value added of a good sulk. The appeal of walking around the house in high dudgeon. To stand by my window and stare out in to the night sky, coldly beautiful... to lie, languishing on my bed with one melancholy tear trickling down my cheek. To write reams of mediocre poetry in my journal... Ok so I'm carried away and I've read too many old romances (not the harlequin kind, the victorian kind, where the heroine is always an enormous sap)
I guess what I'm trying to say here is... Im back folks... ish!