It's not wanting to get out of bed...
but staying in bed with my mind racing over various very stressful things, both real and imagined.
It's about making plans and not being able to show up.
It's about thinking for hours about taking my dog for a walk.
It's about finding the prospect of feeding my dog (browning burgers on the stove) overwhelming.
It involves not being able to figure out what to wear from a closet full of clothes.
It is about resisting the couch.
It is about reading the paper so long that the text begins to spin in front of my eyes. Reading so long to avoid having to decide the next thing to do, and to avoid the guilt about not showing up.
I'm writing now to try and center myself, to ground myself in the real, because writing sometimes does that for me.