I’m doing a bit better today. I’m a little embarrassed to say it, because there’s no real reason for me to be doing better. That would seem to mean that all of the moaning I’ve been doing has been over something so inconsequential that it can just fade away. Apparently I don’t need to see a doctor (or a shrink) after all. I should shut up and save my complaints for something that matters. Or at least something that lasts.

It appears the end of the world isn’t imminent after all. I didn’t have and am not having or about to have a nervous breakdown, or a psychotic episode, or an out-of-body experience. This sensation that I was teetering (or perhaps tottering) on the razor’s edge of the deep end, which felt so real when I was in the midst of it, was about as real as a bad dream, or a Stephen King movie. The true test of reality is whether you can wake up when it’s over.

I don’t know if I’ve found my way back, but I’m not quite as lost as I was. It’s not anything that I did. I haven’t caught up on sleep, or work either. Something made me see the world as a bleak place for a few days, and then some other unknown force made the sun shine a little brighter. I’d like to think I have more control over my moods than that, but at least some of the time I don’t. It’s good to have family and friends who indulge me, or I don’t know how I’d have made it through.