I feel like a ghost; like my body is just floating from place to place in spite of me, and I'm disconnected from reality. I can neither feel nor remember my steps. It takes a lot of effort to bring to mind the next thing I intend to do, though I suppose the next step keeps being taken by me. Nothing I touch feels firm, and every taste is just a little bit too sweet, every light too bright, but I don't have the motivation or willpower to look away. I'm just a gray canvas absorbing the color from my environment, but not exhibiting any change to my appearance. It's like I've retreated so far inside myself that I can't find my way to the surface, or maybe I know the way, but I don't want to go there... or maybe I want to, but I am afraid to... or maybe I shouldn't be afraid, but I can't bear the thought of experiencing the world around me. Nothing is bad or good to me, or maybe everything is both bad and good. For brief moments throughout the day, usually while I'm driving, it strikes me that all the stuff I can't handle thinking about has been meaningful, important even, and the thought of it overwhelms me; as if all the warmth and sensation I ignored until that moment was stored back to be suddenly felt for just a few minutes. But I don't have time to entertain that kind of comfort; the dry redness left behind by tears will only embarrass me when I arrive at my destination.

Those moments are like Jesus speaking to me, a voice in the darkness; letting me know that he planned it for His glory, which is the greater good, and to teach me about Him and His relationship with us. Everything that happens is for the good of those who love God. It's all meaningful and purposeful. It's all making me a better person. I will recover.

I can't think clearly enough to imagine recovery. I don't want to do anything. Things that used to motivate me are now causes for uneasiness; I don't want to act, because I can't know what action is right or wrong. It's all right. It's all wrong. It's all important. It's meaningless. It comes and it goes without warning. It's either love or hate, maybe both, but not long enough for me to depend on either.

God again informs me that He gives wisdom freely and generously to everyone who asks; that His Word is sufficient for equipping the man of God to do every good work.

How do I presume to hear God's voice or know His thoughts? His voice is as plain as black text on a white page. It's written there over and over. Who planned all history? Why does God act? What is the right thing to do? It's all there; written in so many words. Many are the plans in a man's heart, but the Lord directs his steps. Unless the Lord builds the house, its workers labor in vain.

I wrote the above blog yesterday before I came home.

Yesterday I drank some hot apple cider (the instant kind, from a package near the coffee machine) at work and it helped a little, which is why I wrote this. I felt a little bit enlivened by it, (or relaxed; maybe those two are the same thing at this point), but it was the car in front of me that snapped me forward into the world, and I haven't totally fallen back yet. I don't necessarily want to go back, but that cool, bland, pillowy place seems to call me deeper. Is it comfort or just rest that I expect to find there? Probably not both.

I managed to be pretty productive at work today, or at least it felt that way. I listened to some new music for the first time in a while, and that seemed to help. I'm listening to this right now:

I wonder what kind of person I will be tomorrow.

"it's too soon to tell"