And Nothing Works...

This morning I didn't want to get out of bed. I went to bed eight hours before that, knowing that I wasn't going to want to get out of bed. And when I woke up I thought, I really don't want to get out of bed. So I tried thinking of things that I had to do today to get me out. But nothing worked. I thought about going to the gym, how my workout yesterday felt on the edge of reinvention, reminding me my body is still here, even if my spirit isn't. But that didn't work. And I won't be hitting the gym today. I thought about the list of story ideas I wanted to work on for the paper, the blog, the whatever... But that didn't work either. I've been here before. Granted, a while back. And when I got out of it, it felt so good I never thought I'd be here again. But here I am. It's the place where nothing works. Nothing makes you want to answer the phone, nothing makes you want to get up and go outside - or even open the blinds. Nothing you can think of...works. And you hear "I love you" and you can't feel it... And you laugh at stories and happenstances...but it doesn't last or mask anything... And you even have faint desires, for inspiration, creation...or company... But nothing works. I'm even sick of myself for chrissakes. I'm starting to sound like an Oprah show guest. Usually that's all it takes. For me to get sick of myself and then I am up and at 'em with full force. I kick myself around a little bit, steam off the film that seems to cover every inch of me and go out and conquor the world in my own, little way... But that's not working this time either. Instead, I'm sitting on my couch at 3:44 in the afternoon. And I'm nowhere nearer to anything than I was at 11:00 this morning. Technically speaking though, I am out of bed. So that's gotta be something. Go me.