To be quite frank with you, I don't know what's wrong with me.
The past week or so I've been in the most peculiar mood, or lack thereof. The best word I have been able to come up with is "flat." I feel flat. I don't feel particularly depressed, and trust me I know how it feels. I don't feel the usual light elation that I try to instill in myself, either. I feel disconnected from the world, like at some point I stepped through a door expecting to be in the kitchen but found myself in the middle of a forest. It's not unpleasant, but it is very confusing.
Actually it IS unpleasant, now that I am putting words to it. I don't like feeling this way. It almost feels like I'm about to come down with a flu or a really hard fever; I feel disjointed. Adding insult to injury it's a lovely day outside (perhaps because I'm not standing in the heat) and I really wish I were anywhere but here right now.
I woke up this morning wanting to do more, wanting to manage more than simply going to work and doing my job. I often think that my job would be best done and fulfilled if I could keep bringing order to my home, outside specifically. I spent all of the weekend trying to accomplish one small thing, but each time I took a step toward it I found a dozen more things I had to do before I got there, each tied into the goal in some ethereal but very real way, and that failure to accomplish very much always does me in.
I felt like a bug who, seeing the goal, realises that to actually travel the three inches to the end of the flower I'm going to have to take a detour from my position on the base of the flower all the way back down the plant and across half of the flowerbed before I can obtain the goal.
Yeah, that sort of week. I hope it's over soon, because I don't like it, not a bit.