Rage rage against the dying of my lifeforce

If you (whoever you are) could see the pathetically supine position from which I am writing this entry, you too would bemoan the loss of my formerly spritely ways. I'm sitting on my bed, legs sprawled, my laptop propped on my stomach, my limp wrists clamoring to find the proper keys, my head raising itself from its bed of fluffy pillows only when necessary in order to glance the keyboard to correct some typographical error.

It is from this quasi-somnabulatory state that I am marvelling at the energy I had in days of yore, merely a little over a year ago, when I could burn the candle at both ends, go to class, work two part-time jobs, help to run a student group, stay up till all hours writing papers or for no reason at all, and manage to do it all exceedingly well (if i may say so myself).

Now, most nights I fall asleep before 11 o'clock, fully clothed and with my glasses still on my face. This past weekend, Jason and I exchanged high fives after managing to stay up past 2 o'clock. What, oh what, has become of my youthful spirit?! Is it possible that, in addition to sucking the funds out of me, my student loans, car loans, insurance and rent has also somehow managed to rob me of my will to live?

At some point along my half-assed meanderings this past year, both occupational, geographical, and otherwise, free time stopped being fun time, and became sleep time. While on a hunt for Jason's period fairy costume at Target (this is, of course, a whole other story which I will not go into now, mostly out of a desire to conserve my ever-waning energy), I found myself strolling down the toy aisles. Cabbage patch kids, easy bake ovens, pound puppies, and hello kitty galore! It took me back to the days when free time meant play time, when I had so much energy to burn that I would employ both my imagination and my body in make-believe and role-playing, for no real purpose but the sheer satisfaction of the act itself. Playtime! Now, the only game I play in my free time is one in which I attempt to keep my body as still as possible, exerting only the physical and mental energy required to operate a remote control and bring food from my plate to my mouth (often with my bare hands, because utensils are middle-men that you don't need when your goal is to be as slothlike as possible).

I'm tempted to do something to remedy this situation, but motivation and ingenuity as to how to approach it currently escapes me. Perhaps if I watch a little boob tube, munch on a little ice cream, perhaps then it will come to me. For now, however, my bladder is growing ever full by the moment, and if I expend any more time and effort typing this entry, I might not have the energy reserve I need to make it to the bathroom, a mere six feet away.