I don't wanna to be me

I admitted exhaustion today, exhaustion of being responsible for anything more than the paycheck, of coming home and feeling profoundly uncreative, feeling unable to do much besides share a meal with others and maybe read or stare blankly at the lake. The babies are easy because they don't ask for much. Of being unable to write songs, unable to paint anything beautiful, unmotivated to even cook, to plant seeds, to do anything, there are clothes all over the floor of my room that need to be put away, and every conversation has been exhausting, and sometimes the cloud lifts and then it descends again. Depression sucks. It's beautiful outside, I should be celebrating.