Everything should be going well but nothing feels right. It's worse when there is nothing to blame. How can one explain hating the people one loves best, for no reason whatsoever, or for reasons that would regularly be insufficient in piquing emotions? Explaining it away or excusing it as an existential lay by serves to earn mere labels. Weltschmerz would be a slightly untrue depiction, a fine coating over the actual self-indulgence of the misery. At this point, a good, unapologetically mindless bawl would be the best prescription.
Dear lord, let it just be damn PMS already!
