After sleeping until 9 a.m. four days in a row, and staying in my pajamas until late afternoon, it's official: I'm depressed. I have no energy. I feel like a zombie and I don't want to do anything. Not even drink. And when I can't even muster enough energy to open a bottle of wine, I know I'm in trouble.
The problem is, I'm not sure what to do about it. When I lived with Todd, I couldn't afford to be depressed or experience massive amounts of time spent in Inertia Land. No matter what happened while I was living there, I got up every day at a respectable time, let the dogs out, made some coffee, and got myself moving. Most days, I went for a walk in the morning. This involved getting dressed...something that seems foreign to me now. The other day when it snowed? I went outside - twice - and shoveled in my pajamas and fleece robe cover. The only reason I didn't wear my slippers was because I didn't want them to get wet.
Today is a better day than yesterday. I got up earlier than usual (okay, it was because Schmutzy threw up a pile of slimy tinsel on the side of the bed, but I still got up). After cleaning it all up, I took a bath and got dressed. Okay, so I'm wearing sweats (one level up from jammies), but I am dressed. And clean. That's progress, right?
What isn't progress is the fact that my resume remains unwritten. I have these wonderful books full of expert guidance, and here I sit surrounded by them with absolutely no desire to actually open them.
How does one shake a bad case of inertia? It obviously takes more than a bath and donning a pair of sweats...although the bath is probably a step in the right direction.