It wasn't any sort of introspective bit since I had had a total of 2 hours in my car driving to/from Boulder. I felt a little queasy (I had all day, actually, but nothing extreme) all day but it came to a head in the evening. I tried to sleep because I was exhausted, but I realized that I had a fever and every time I closed my eyes I had a parade of delerium scramble all around my eyes. Anyone who's ever been in the depths of a fever when trying to sleep knows what I'm talking about. It was immediate, though, to the point where I miserably lied on my side and stared at the wall, since it was better than the shoddy "sleep" that I was getting.
I would nod off from time to time but jolt awake with the sense that I couldn't breathe, or that something was very wrong. Eventually, around 5:30am, I fell asleep and woke up at around 7. I stayed up for maybe half an hour, and then went back to bad once I felt a little better and slept until 2:30pm.
Waking up, I just drifted around the house. It started snowing. I didn't have much of an appetite and still don't, so I kicked it at the dinner table before heading upstairs. A few hours later my brother had a seizure that was more prolonged than usual, which is always tremendously scary and unnverving.
I just had this heavy feeling of unhappiness. I have to get up at 9 tomorrow so I can be at work on time and so I have this creeping stress. "I'll go to bed in a moment here. And I HAVE to sleep." That sort of thing. I had to call in today and I just started.
There seems to be something malicious in this whole depression. I know that I'm so very fortunate. I could complain about being at the ol' quarter-life crisis and such, but really, I could be starving to death. I've lived in Italy twice. What right do I have to bitch about anything?
But I'm sick, and not tired, and the Cocteau Twins are lightening me a little but I want an anchor of sorts. Arrr. Maybe I'm restless.
It's just so frustrating to have the nagging feeling that things used to be so much better.