Schrodingers Cat

I have my head in a vice. I can't concentrate. Everything I do has a difficulty level far exceeding the reality of the task. Humourous banter with customers has disappeared. I feel like I'm in a black box with a letterbox slot to look out of. People come in bright and breezy wishing me Merry Christmas and I can barely talk enough to anwer them let alone return the greeting.
Sandra has just come in with a plate of mince pies for me and a card. She started singing "We wish you a merry Christmas."
I said "Sandra I may have to kill you if you don't shut up."
I've decided that Scrooge was a victim of Seasonal Affective Disorder, like me. BY the end of Christmas I think just about everyone I know will end up hating me, why not? I Hate myself right now. I've already been accused of being "a miserable shit" and told to "Pull yourself together".
Well it's not that easy as anyone who suffers from depression will tell you. I'd like to pull myself together, really I would, I'd love to be able to give myself a good slapping and get up on my feet laughing and joking. But I don't have the mental energy to do that.
I could start taking anti depressants but as they take three or four weeks to kick in it's pointless, by then I'll be my old self anyway.
So apologies to all those dropping by expecting to read something funny. This is as funny as it gets until January when the days get lighter.
Oh yeah and I have a gig Christmas Eve. I 'll be doing that one on autopilot.
Del has decided to call us "Dilingers Cat", well he hasn't made a unilateral decision, he's thrown it into the arena for discussion. I think I might throw in "Schrodingers Cat" for good measure, if it's still alive.

Michael