For no particular reason, I woke up feeling very down today. There's nothing making me sad...just a heavy melancholy air around me -- very heavy, like I'm overcompensating for these past days where I felt all right. A week of decent moods is too much for me, apparently.
I loaded up the babies and went for a long drive, hoping that my music and the sleep that I knew would keep them quiet would help me feel better. I think it may have had the opposite effect. It's a very gray, bleak day, and driving around the countryside I almost felt like I was in a black and white photo. The only colors were the occasional red barn and the almost-green of the grass. Beautiful in its own way, all of that, but not conducive to a cheery mood. I even cried as I drove...and it's frustrating to not understand why.
Maybe this is terrible to admit, but I almost wish that I were manic depressive, because at least I would have those periods of hyper-productivity, right? And maybe sometimes the manic episodes would come with their own bad qualities, but it's not like my existence is too positive right now anyway. But wishing for that is futile. I'm not manic -- just depressive. And I wonder if that's just who I am, and who I always will be.
Maybe tomorrow will be better.
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