Looking Up At the Worm's Belly

That's what Mrs. John R. (Bessie) Thomason used to say she was doing when she was depressed. Depressed doesn't necessarily mean you're moaning and groaning and saying poor poor me, why does it always rain on me. It mostly means a big universal blank, where you don't have enough energy/ambition/ability to open a door even if you could see one. And you wonder vaguely why you don't even care.

So something forces you to stand up, straighten your back, flex all your musckles, and go get a handful of pills and another cup of coffee. Eventually, things get better, because that's all they can get, mindwise.

You know that tomorrow you'll get out of the house and look at the snow (yeah, snow, I'll believe that when I see it), and there will be people, and sounds other than head noises or yourself whistling in the dark.
***

Someone, I think Sylvia Plath, described this state before. Since it's a true description, I'm going to leave it in here instead of erasing it. I think this is probably the reason Sylvia was so damsilly when she was being vocal; she was so glad to be temporarily out of the trough.

You have to keep getting up and constructing something upon which to rejoice. Some poet said that a little better.