Sometimes when I’m feeling down, I like to laugh at other periods of blueness. I think it’s like rubbing salt into the bummer wound: like, not only am I feeling bad, but in a few years it’ll all seem really stupid. How existential of me.

Case in point, this hilarious poem from a Los Angeles-induced disassociative depression two years ago:

Here’s is a poem
about a down little girl
Locked up into her down little world

The down little girl
lives in down little space
with its white stucco walls
a late ’70s fall from grace

She doesn’t go outside
because she doesn’t like the cars
she doesn’t go outside
because she feels like she’s from mars.