So... What?
What happened, you wish to ask? Where does this entry find me, at what time of day, what state of mind, which new and exciting form of emotional distress?
Well, ladies and gentlemen, you are in luck, for I am going to answer all of your questions, and more! Prepare yourselves for an entry unlike any before!
My regular readers might remember the last entry, which ended in something of a cliffhanger. "Would he say what he wanted? Would he have the opportunity? What would she answer?"
So, it is my great pleasure to report that I did, indeed, say what I wanted. In fact, the conversation took a course that was quite similar to Scenario No.3. And her answer... I am somewhat less pleased to report her answer. Well, it wasn't so bad. In fact, it was much better than I expected, and at the time I was rather relieved.
More or less, she said "Thank you." Not exactly ideal. She explained that she saw me as a friend, a good one, and that, for some reason, she wasn't afraid this would ruin that. Moreover, she said, no one had ever said that to her. That he likes her. I said that makes no sense, but there you have it.
And then we talked, and then that was that. And now, In a way, I'm back where I started.
Except...
I haven't been getting much sleep lately, and I'm feeling rather ill, perhaps for that very reason. Moreover, I am having serious doubts and dilemmas about the direction my life is supposed to be taking now. I am, I suppose, rather confused. You see, I'm sick of everything, really, I just want to go sleep it off somewhere, and by "it" I mean everything, everyone, my life.
Last week... was it only last week? Was the national book fair. I went several times, but by the second visit, something inside me had changed, something had snapped, and I couldn't enjoy myself any longer. It was the first time I could remember when being surrounded by books failed to cheer me up, or even engage my interest. And this was before the Hannah incident, or rather non-incident. Since then, I feel like a hollow shell. I still bear on my back all my responsibilities, and all outer signs of a healthy social life, and yet my hopes, my dreams, and any motivation to do anything that might bring me joy are gone.
I have even lost interest in my most consistent dream, that of writing. I might halfheartedly make an occasional attempt, but the spirit's gone.

Well, what can I say. The wheel turns, and here I am, sometime in the afternoon. I took a short break from writing, and have cheered up remarkably. I had been going to watch a movie with a friend, but he ditched, and now I have a great big sound system all set up, so I'm blasting my room with music.
I feel as thought I've cheated you readers. I mean, I was winding you up with the whole depression thing, and now I'm barely even sad. What can I say?
See, this is the kind of shit I have to deal with. Me, feeling guilty for not feeling bad. Incredible, isn't it?
All in all, this seems to have been one of my weaker entries.