Sometimes when I get depressed I remind myself that ten-year-old me would be thrilled to be doing basically anything I do in the course of an average day. I imagine ten-year-old me tagging along as I go about my adult life and commenting on my activities.
"Ugh, lunch from a vending machine again."
“I GET A CANDY BAR FOR LUNCH?! A WHOLE CANDY BAR?!”
“Two candy bars, you fat slob.”
“TWO CANDY BARS!?”
It doesn’t matter what I’m doing, ten-year-old me loves it.
"I’m going to lose it if I have to drive this commute one more time."
“I GET TO DRIVE A CAR?!”
“Fuck everything, the printer’s jammed again.”
“I GET TO PUSH BUTTONS ON A PRINTER?!”
“Shit, that meeting’s in ten minutes.”
“LET ME CARRY THE BRIEFCASE!”
It’s still a valid mental strategy after I get home.
“Ramen for dinner.”
“RAMEN FOR DINNER!”
“I can barely stay awake to answer these emails.”
“I’M GONNA STAY UP TILL MIDNIIIIIIIIIGHT!”
According to ten-year-old me, my life is *awesome*. I try to remember this.