Ah the joys of setting into an apartment and trying to hang all of your art work and pictures. Otherwise known as the time of year where I randomly hammer nails into the walls at odd angles and levels and then am annoyed at how nothing lines up perfectly.
It's funny how I will agonize over buying a five dollar box of tampons at the store, but will be completely fine with dropping $100 on a dress that I want... but don't actually need. (It was so cute, okay!?)
I feel like I have read a hundred times in a hundred different places that writers do their best work when they are depressed. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that this isn't how it should be.