I'm having some commitment issues. Well, actually, I'm not and THAT is a whole 'nother issue. My heart, right now, is not in anything. I get up, I do everything that needs to be done, I go to bed. Lather, rinse, repeat. I eat when/what/however I want and I feel like crap as a result. Exercise? eh. I thought finishing the binding on that little quilt would kickstart an interest in sewing. nah. Tonight's inspired dinner offering? Pot roast. yawn. The school fundraiser is almost done the sleeper stage and it'll be busy for a bit next week. And then? Don't know, don't care. I'm not committed, and I can't even summon the will to care.
Some people have suggested that this lack of interest is depression. Nah. I know depression, I live with depression 24/7 in the person that sleeps in my bed and messes up my kitchen. Clinical depression has been a part of the person I married since before I married him. Depression kicked me in the head after my oldest son was born, and came back poking me after Daniel. I recognized its dark shadow then and dodged the punch. This isn't depression, this is something less sinister, but less nameable, too. It's easier to fight off the intruder if you know who he is.
So what's the cure? Time? Sleep? Fresh Air? A regimen of work and play that keeps me too busy to sit around ponder how much I'm just going through the motions of all of it? All of the above? None? Sounds, heh, like a list waiting to be written.