I'm not waiting for motivation, not for another minute. It's not coming. So I've decided to leave without it. If it wants to follow, fine. But it's obvious that it's not intending to lead. So off I go on my own. F*it. Clearly, I need to lift myself out of this S.A.D. fog by myself, even if I have to drag my own arse kickin' and screaming, peeling my fingers off doorjambs while I pull my own legs by the feet down this path.
I'm DOING this. I'll thank myself later, after I'm done whining. I've heard (and dimly recall) that it takes only about a week to feel better. As Emily Shaules said, "I can do anything for a week. Hell, I'd drink gasoline for a week if I thought it would have made me feel better."
So this is the week, damn it. Despite myself and my inner nincompoop who tries her addict-best to mess things up, I am eating RAW. Hold me to it.