I fake it well, don't I?
For the last six months or so, it's feeling more and more like I'm trapped at the bottom of a dank, damp well where, as the days go by, the opening seems farther and farther away. I normally get this way in the wintertime. See, I'm a child of light; I crave the sunshine and mud and worms and the outdoors. When I can charge my batteries every day with Mother Nature, I am happy. And winter takes that away.
For the last week or so, it's been nice. Nice enough that I had dirty feet Sunday night from being out with the dogs in their mudhole of a backyard. Nice enough that I could turn my face and arms to the sun as if to say "I missed you." Normally, my body knows this and immediately starts to adjust to happy Dreamer. It's not working.
It was 75 here today - 75 and bright sunshine. I wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed and sleep the day away. O wait. I can't sleep either. I am in bed for approximately seven hours; I sleep for about four. I have reached complete apathy about my position.
I had to go to the doctor today anyway - I'm at the end of a 2-week cold, and it's settling in my ears for the first time in about three years. I have antibiotics (yay), and I mentioned to my doc lady how I was feeling. I cried in her office, and we discussed pharmaceutical help. I have a prescription waiting for me on Friday at our local chemist (small smile; I like it). I don't really want to take it, but I will. I want to be my normal, wacky, weird, freakazoid self. I miss her.
If you're a prayer, send a few good thoughts up for me, please. I could really use it right now.