The Melancholic Fever

It must be the weather.

I am often funny. I am often melancholy. Sometimes the space between the two extremes happens so quickly. And yet, I am never prepared for it.

It must be that I'm getting sick... again.

It's only 6:30pm and I find myself distracted, stressed, headachy, and tired. I rage at myself for not being productive. I had planned to complete incomplete tasks, mount aggressive campaigns against the towering piles of paperwork in my office, and purge my writer's soul by documenting and revising my life's activities and verbose opinions. And yet, that is not to be this evening.

I will sleep. I will attempt to sleep... for even though my body starves for rest, I still suffer from insomnia. Perhaps the constant drone of my laundry in the spin cycle will lull my active synapses and silence them for awhile.

OR...

I can watch Ellen Degeneres in the unfortunate comedy "Mr. Wrong". Talk about irony. Sigh. Again, I leap into the safe haven of comedic observation.