It's a horribly gray, dreary day today and I'm feeling a bit melancholy.  I'm not one that has to have sunny days in order to function but I have been feeling a tad down lately anyway.  The weather just seems to be reflecting my mood.  I'll be 31 soon.  20 days.  Not that I'm counting.  30 wasn't so bad.  I just felt like a mature 20.  31 feels like I'm losing the battle.  The battle to count for something.  I work, I go to school, I have a dog.  That's probably the best that can be said about my life.  I'm living in my parents' basement, I'm dreadfully overweight, and I see a psychiatrist and a therapist.  I'm not always this much of a downer.  I'm usually quite the cheery optimist but if I can't unload here, where can I?  I don't want to talk to my friends about it.  Nobody wants to be friends with a killjoy.  So I'll smile and laugh and pretend like I love my life and maybe I'll do such a convincing job that I'll start to believe it myself.