I'm not depressed. What's wrong with wanting to stay home for once? Why can't I sit on my bed reading, or stay at the dining table writing aimlessly and writing letters, or making my mixed tapes, or just listening to the music that makes me feel good? Why can't I stay in the kitchen, thinking of the next thing to make? Cooking and baking and then feeding. I'm not depressed, and I'm not pretending like I don't have a life. I've just been preferring the quiet lately. And I don't think there's anything wrong with that. I'm not depressed. I'm actually rather satisfied with my life. So please, can we stop worrying about Ange? I'm more fine guise, HAKUNA MATATA.
PS. CARBS ARE MY FRIENDS
