Usually around this time of year I get a burst of energy. Days are getting warmer and sunnier and longer. Things are starting to grow. Birdies are happily twittering all over the place. The kitties are turning into kamikaze furballs. Even Fred is a little perkier than usual.
I am not. I am tired. And sad. And having a hard time getting out of bed in the morning, nevermind getting excited about getting out of bed. It's not every day, and it's not all day long on the days that I feel like this, but there's getting to be more not-wanting-to-get-out-of-bed days than not. I'm still getting out of bed, but that's mostly because I need the paycheque. Oh, and some days (again, not every day) I just can't stop eating. Not always stuff that's bad for me, but still, it is possible to eat too much celery.
Maybe I'm depressed? I don't know. I've been treated for it in the past, and it felt different than this. This is more like extreme boredom with my life. Except that aside from my job/commute (didn't get that last one that I interviewed for, by the way), my weight and a couple of things that will take care of themselves in about 19 days, I quite like my life. I have a home that I have plans to make into a lovely home. I have a boyfriend and cats and family and friends who all love me and I love them all back. I'm still looking for a job and still going to the gym. I go for walks and I do things I enjoy like going to the farmer's market, and singing, and having tea with my girlfriends. So why, when I have all of this wonderful stuff going on, do I just want to pull the covers up over my head and snuggle with a kitty while knitting things and watching Oprah?