Un-

I moped around all day, close to tears. Sobbing a few times quietly to myself when I was alone -- brushing my teeth, chopping vegetables, unbuttoning my jacket after yoga. In equal parts, groundless sadness, lethargy, and discouragement.

Finally, sitting down to a favorite dinner, a favorite hipster song playing, it changes. I'm struck by a feeling: it's not gratitude for these things, nor happiness, but a painful twinge of creativity. The twinge that distracts me from my delicious dinner and forces me to come here to type, forces me to my work table to sketch out a few fleeting inspirations.

Of course it passes, and every time it leaves me despondent, unsure, unsettled.