I overslept, terribly, forcing dreams to keep me captive - despite the sunshine seeping through the blinds and suffusing the entire room. It did not help matters that as my body rebelled against sleep, all the dreams liquefied, evaporated in moments.
Without seeing, I knew the sadness was there, sitting at the bedside, whispering, as it had been whispering all morning.
Depression, in highly functioning individuals, is strictly a creature of the modern world, like a celebrity walking about the room brooding, fairly unaware of the fundamental elements of life. It mattered not that I had a fully-functioning mind (relatively), working limbs, otherwise excellent health, a good job, a family being maintained by me, and a handful of people who cared if I were to be erased from the earth. The tree in the corner of the room was still forlorn, sparse leaves drooping. When was I going to replace that thing, or tend to it?
The garbage piled in the kitchen, albeit in bags. The dry cleaner awaited my arrival to retrieve the big wool coat that may or may not still have my blood stains on it. I peered through the blind - the daylight seemed like a formidable enemy. At times like these, there was nothing for it but to seek the consolation of work.
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