I’ve been sleeping too much.
I wake up, and I want to stay in bed.
I get up, take a shower, and want to lay down on my large leather chair and close my eyes.
I get to work and I want to listen to classical music and forget where I am.
Too much sleep is a classic sign of depression. But I’m not depressed. I know this because I became intimately familar with depression in my adolesence. I never tested the bottom of that dark river – never felt true despair. In fact, there was a certain comfort in the melancholic embrace it had – it gave me permission to withdraw. But it was a temporary retreat, a false promise of solace that lead nowhere.
So why am I so…unmotiviated? I am still engaged in life – I do things. But I have no great challenge, no great reason.
Decent well-paying job? Check.
Nice, if small, house? Check.
Good friends? Check.
Maybe I just need a vacation.