Woah, who drugged me? Wait. Yup - that was me.

Welcome, my friends, to 'lack of motivation station'. 'Motivation station' rolls of the tongue a little sweeter, but I'm incapable of getting there.

I've certainly noticed fluctuations in patterns and habits for me since I've been off work (and kind of in treatment, for lack of a better term) but my treatment is complete and it's time for me to step forward again. The problem is, I don't really feel... better. If this is better, it's highly disappointing and not very practical for the every-day world.

More often than not, I'm falling into my all-day-in-bed habits. Though I don't know if I can call it a habit when I feel incapable of breaking it. I don't feel sad, per say, but I am completely and totally exhausted, and the littlest things feel like the biggest chores. The kicker is, some days I don't feel like this and I'm perfectly productive. While this is good, but it tends to give me false confidence - like I could do this *every* day! Then I have a day like today and I can't figure out how I'm supposed to work if I can't predict the days I can't function.

My dog had a routine vet visit this morning. We rolled out of bed at 8:30, made some coffee, had a walk, she had her breakfast. By the time 9:30 rolled around, my eyes were drooping and all I wanted to do was cancel the appointment and crawl back into bed. I had taken an ativan at about 4:00 am after a few particularly anxiety-provoking nightmares, and for some reason I think the ativan hit me a little harder than usual. I have a hard time being able to tell the difference between low anxiety (drugged on ativan) and high depression. My hand was on the phone to cancel, but I stopped myself. Any other situation I would have cancelled, but the dog-Mum in me could not justify cancelling an appointment for my fur child because I was depressed. There's no child protective services for pups, but I don't want to feel like if there were, I would be on the list. So we drove to the vet (me in my pyjamas - I may not be an unfit dog-Mum, but I sure as hell wasn't washing my face or brushing my hair.) All went well, and we drove back, me yawning all the way, desperate to go back to bed.

Fast forward until now. It's 2:00, and I just got out of bed to move my car. Now I am fighting, tooth and nail, the urge to return. Needless to say, the ativan has worn off, but the drowsiness and inability to focus is still there. I couldn't get over my demeanor at the vet - completely and totally out to lunch. The vet was talking to me, but for the life of me I couldn't hang on to what she was saying. I had to re-book for a follow-up shot for a month from now, but I couldn't even organize that in my brain, and had to leave saying I would call this week to book.

Writing helps a bit. It helps me feel like I have clarity going on somewhere in my noggin, though if you approached me on the street, I'd probably just give one word answers and stare off into space. And, of course, yawn. Constantly.

So here I sit, still unable to start my day. I have people I want to write to, knitting I want to do, household chores I *could* do, books I want to read, walks I want to take. All I can think of right now, though, is that I NEED to go back to bed and sleep this feeling away. It is, my friends, the ultimate in escapism. It is my own way of self-medicating, and though it's hard to argue that sleep is bad for you, it feels as though it is in this case.

Good afternoon, and good night,

PS