His stomach lurched and he felt his throat going tight, constricted. This wasn’t good. The depression was back and it was back to soon. It had only just left him this morning, the rest of the entire day had been a relatively smooth ride. And now it was back to the sudden morbidity.

Jeremy vomited on the floor beside his bed with one sick ‘bluergh’ sound followed by the disgusting splatter of yellow sick all over the carpet. This will take a lot of cleaning in order to get the smell out, he thought as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Oh sweet, spaghetti, he thought as he looked at the half digested strand of noodle clinging to his hand.

Why do I get so overworked up over things so trivial? he thought as he mustered the strength to get up from the bed. I don’t know man, it’s something to do with the way you were wired up in that brain of yours, he said to himself. Jeremy walked, tiptoed more like, around the ooze on the floor and made his way to the bathroom. The spicy and bitter taste of vomit stuck to the back of his throat and as he opened the tap to gargle, he could feel chunks of residual vomit in his mouth.

Fuck my life, he said and spat the water into the sink.

But why though?

There was literally no reason for him to be sad. No reason for him to feel this gloomy this close to Christmas. And yet, as he looked at the glazed windows of his toilet and saw the numerous twinkles of colorful lights decorating the giant Christmas tree on the block which his bathroom overlooked, he could not help but feel as if all hope was lost, all efforts were in vain and that all that once was beautiful and lovely was now dead and cold.

Its just the Sunday night blues you dipshit, he said and slapped himself on the face three times, as if slapping would help sink in the realization that his distress was for naught. to be honest, it wasn’t the Sunday night blues that was getting to him. He wanted a lot more from life than what it had already given him. He was currently doing a job that paid 40 dollars an hour. He worked more than sixty hours a week. One would think that working so much would hardly give him time to be depressed, but there was always ample time to do that.

Fuck it, Jeremy said once more and closed the tap. He wiped his mouth with the towel and went back in his room which was now reeking of dank vomit. The cleaning lady will clean that up in the morning, no worries. And with that thought, Jeremy Smith fell on his bed and slept like a baby throughout the night.