Resting

I bounce quickly from being completely exhausted to miserably bored, trapped (save those few perfect moments before falling asleep snuggled under covers against a cool breeze from the open door) in this state of not wanting to be here (wherever here happens to be) but unable to imagine an appealing there either.

I'm restless and achy so I walk with my dog. But my lower back aches so that each step becomes increasingly painful, leaving me whimpering by the time we make our easy mile-long loop and return home. My hands shake when opening the Advil.

I'm bored so I read. But I've a fondness for romance novels, some of them rather racy, and the new anti-depressant leaves me thinking that sex is not unlike some messy form of exercise so even my favorite-est novels find themselves tossed aside in a rather impressive pile on the floor. I will say I took on the sexual side effects willingly, but it remains odd that even the most erotic or romantic moments in print or on screen leave me blinking with a sort of vague acceptance.

There is work so I try to engage. I spent several pleasant hours fixing EndNote references in a chapter I'm finishing at Former Institution. I wrote a post about what a dear man Boss is and how I feel like I should miss him and my academic career, but I really do not. When it came to writing new paragraphs for the body of the chapter, explain concepts that weren't perfectly clear or adding detail to explain my beautiful figures, it might have been easier to yank out a tooth and hand it over, so excruciating was the effort to make reasonable sentences appear.

I take phone calls but drift into a foggy state that leaves me apologizing for not paying attention when people call my name.

I read blogs I've not visited in many moons, sometimes even leaving comments on posts because there's so little else to do. (Unless I left a comment on your blog - your blog I like.)

I fill out spreadsheets, happy enough to move information from one part of the screen to another, but when anything goes wrong, I feel the need to stop and curl into a loose ball again.

My goal for the day is to make another appointment to see my doctor. I'm not right - not well - and I'm not sure how we're going to fix it.