The Sum of All Fears

'You can't solve all your problems by shooting someone or setting a stranger on fire' - Liz Lemon (although I think she possibly meant 'can')

Despite feeling fairly miserable the last few days, I have noticed a strange phenomonen to my bouts of depression. While I revel in horror movies or at least dark and beautiful things (A Clockwork Orange being the latest brain orgasm to temporarily comfort me) and am propelled towards bad food, depressing sagas, blacker than black comedies and even the news - because, after all, there is nothing more depressing than BBC World-  I suddenly get cravings for manufactured, super slick, disposable pop.  Lady Gaga, La Roux, even - dare I admit it - Kylie Minogue suddenly push Fischerspooner, Sia Furler and Depeche Mode off the playlist.  I think I have listened to Telephone, which even has Beyoncé (I mean really, Beyoncé! Beyoncé! What's next, Kanye Bloody West? Justin Goddamn Trousersnake?) in it, about 100 times in the last two days.

The only way to explain why I am feeling depressed, other than supreme displacement and the whole unrequited thing (as I said to Irina over several very late glasses of wine last night, I'm so sick of being the girl sitting there thinking, pick me! It's demeaning) is that it's like there is some kind of disturbance in the natural order of things, and I seem to be at the centre, like that building in Ghostbusters. Several other unfortunate events have added up to what my friend calls, 'The Sum of All Fears' (if indeed, he is my friend. I'm not sure. Ironically, that's one of the unfortunate things).  To make it even worse, I am so sick of thinking about it. And writing about it. And yet here I am writing about it.

I have lost perspective to the point that I was very (very) seriously considering throwing it all in and flying to New York this morning, since that is my usual escape route.  (I think this stems from when I was a child and dreamed of being Sigourney Weaveresque and living in an apartment in New York, with groceries in a brown paper bag and one of those very 80s eyeshadow palettes.  Perhaps I should have pursued such an achievable dream).   But here I am, alone in Stockholm of all places, for the Easter holidays.  Me and what, Christina Aguilera or something. Oh my God, I hope this passes soon so I can listen to some decent music again.