Ever so often I go out with friends for evening that stretch into the small hours of the morning, full of laughter and cuddles. While lovely and very enjoyable, upon waking up the following morning I have the most curious sensation. It is not hangover, as I avoid drinking, but could be compared to in in several of its aspects.

As it happens, this morning was one of those. Waking up later than usual, I experience a slight headache and sometimes muscle pain, which are largely inconsequential. The real problem are my thoughts. I wake up muffled. Dampened, even. With a thick cloth that covers not my senses (or at least not completely) but rather my thoughts and even my personality. I care less about things. I am more sensitive and prone to anger or sadness. I get lost in thought more easily. It feels a bit off, like looking at life through a slightly blurred glass.

And while that is definitely due to sleep deprivation, what I hate about it is that I lose the strength to fight it.

I like to consider myself a happy person, or rather a person that makes other people happy. I make a focused effort in doing so. I try my best to smile as much as possible, I cheer people up, and help them around. It is, I think, the best way to live life, making oneself happier by making others happier.

Yet the apathy and slight disconnection that I get on these days and others makes me lose the impulse to make that happen. It makes me feel somewhat miserable because I lose some of those efforts. And, as the cycle goes, I am then even less inclined to be happy, which makes me even less determined to be of use and so on.

I end up in front of my computer, browsing between the four usual tabs and feeling sorry for myself, but without the motivation to change anything about the situation, or lying in my bed reading the first thing I can get my hands on out of pure desperation to be entertained.

I do not like it because that is not me. That is not what I see myself as. I am somewhat betraying myself. The fact that I do not even have the impulse to wake up, that no snap of fingers comes to jolt me awake, that I continue cycling through the Four Tabs of Doom (an appropriate name since one of the is of the battlefront) is disheartening, and as slightly off as the whole day. I am not like that, or at least I do not feel like I am like that.

At least I fought today a bit more than other days. I studied, even if I was continuously distracted and did little. I went through my Japanese flashcards. I am here writing this, even if I was quite tempted to call it a day and maybe write tomorrow. Ultimately, it comes down to those little victories. They are the markers of a truly good day, even if it did not feel like one. If I fought, then it was worth it.