It's taken this long, but at long last you've figured out that, really, being chronically lazy and lethargically apathetic doesn't necessarily mean you are a victim of terminal depression. No, it just means you're a very messed-up individual.
Exhibit A: You come home, check the answering machine and are actually surprised to find a message. It's your best friend (the thoughtful one, not the preciously oblivious one), asking you to call her so you two can talk, her voice characteristically laced with a mixture of worry and stress. It could be that she's concerned about your general well-being; afterall, that's what nice, normal people do. Or perhaps she's in some sort of dire shit herself, and seeks you out for companionship and well-meaning advice. The scary part is when you find yourself deleting the message, thinking rationally: "What's she's on about? She's pretty!" Remorse inevitably follows, but that doesn't change the fact that you haven't written down her number.
Exhibit B: You're home on a Friday night, resolutely NOT doing your homework. You casually think about going out and bemoan the woefulness of not having anywhere to go nor anyone to go with. But wait... a quick check of your planner reveals that you actually have three places you should be and at least 10 people who would be glad to know that you're still alive after not hearing from you for days. Still, you remain in your chair and refuse to move...
Exhibit C: Your gaydar has gotten so off you start to wonder if maybe God's playing some sort of cruel trick. Or whether there is really such a thing as poetic justice.
Exhibit D: You sleep. A LOT.