Wandering In the Forest in the Winter

I got an email from this guy who manages a bunch of websites. He said he'd seen some of my work and wanted me to write for him. He offered me some money that was just ok, not great, and sent me the link to one of his webpages so I could get an idea of his content. It was all about budgets and financial stuff. I wrote him back and said I am no financial expert (me, financial wiz, ha ha ha, hilarious) and he might be better served to get someone who was better suited...He wrote back and said no problem, he'd give me all the research I needed, and I could just churn out something from my research. I was reluctant but agreed...So today he sends me my first assignment. He wanted thirty articles about gas cards, as in gasoline. He sent me links to about fifteen stories to read. I read two and fell asleep (ok, well almost asleep). I wrote him back and said, "I just can't write about something I'm not interested in." I don't know. Maybe that's arrogant of me, but I don't want something with my name on it I churned out about something boring as h*ll.
I realize that it's Christmas, meaning cold weather, meaning I get out very little and get more depressed, so I went down and signed up to do volunteer work two mornings a week in an office of a state agency of children's services. Now I DREAD like the plague showing up next week.
I honestly don't want to do anything but crawl back into bed. I've been forcing myself not to do that. I started back on my anti-depressants yesterday. I'm fighting this by trying to make myself go through the motions. I know this is bummer stuff to write about right now, and to my readers, I apologize. But I thought maybe there was someone else out there feeling this way, and maybe they might happen along this blog and realize they are not alone. If so, posting this crap will be worth it.
I haven't gotten dressed except to go to the grocery, then home and right back into my robe and socks. I haven't worn makeup in weeks and can't use eye surgery as an excuse any longer. I haven't returned calls from my friends. I keep on a bright face for anyone who might worry about me. I'm not crying. I'm not sleeping well. I'm not doing much of anything. The only way I can describe this is feeling like someone turned off some button on my shoulder and now I'm a stepford wife without the baking or fluff.