Last night I dreamed that I was in LA with Glenn. We were having a conversation and at the end he told me that he didn't need me anymore. Then he got up and walked away. And it still stung.
The time change is playing havoc with my biorhythms. So much for my lovely happy pills--my head is all swimmy and either I can't sleep at all or I sleep for 13 hours (which I did last night). Tonight I went for a long run just to get outside and get some fresh air because it's a whopping 60 degrees outside. Finally, the temperature reaches a hospitable level! Now I am feeling vaguely more normal but still a little out of it.
Suddenly I am the queen of indecision. I cannot make up my mind between the yoga retreat in Maui, an Ashtanga intensive in Costa Rica or another Ashtanga intensive in the Azores. None of these are bad choices, but the feeling in my gut that normally guides me in one direction or another has been resoundingly silent lately. It goes beyond a lack of motivation or even an overall sense of ambivalence, and it's quickly approaching apathy. I just don't care about pretty much anything right now. Existential crisis? Yet I find happiness in something stupid, like walking through Harvard Square and not wanting to go right back home and crawl under the covers. I lack a sense of direction but I suddenly feel at home in the world. Someone call Joyce Carol Oates.