I've been depressed, in that dichotomous way I do:
I've given my attention to my daughter's room since she deserves it. Her room was a modge podge of stuff with no order, no unifying color. Now, with a new desk, a lounge chair, cubbies and her room rearranged, she's loving it. My mother made me cry last week when she told me that Delhi had a great sense of humor and that she wouldn't know what to do if she didn't have her close. I've been thinking of grad school somewhere far away.
I have to force myself to bed and can't sleep but I can sit for a minute and fall asleep so hard I'm dreaming instantaneously. Sometimes I'm so relaxed my muscles feel soft - I'm not used to that feeling. Other times my back is fine then tenses up so completely I can't turn around when I'm parallel parking.
I've started writing but have this complete distaste when I'm doing it. Almost nausea, almost hate to look at the page.
I've gone back to music as a way to escape some - Annie Lennox helps some.
I know I'll be okay. I think I'm just surprised at how long it seems to have taken me to bounce out of this funk. Maybe it doesn't help that I haven't been meditating regularly or that I don't have a good friend to talk to (or rather, that I can view right now as someone I could talk to).