It's been a week of tears and squalor and unwashed hair

And suddenly this morning, my soul has returned to my body; both of us worse for wear. But somehow I am able to pick up the dirty clothes that start on the front doormat and extend all the way to the corner of the bedroom. I am able to put on the recording of Bach's Art of the Fugue. I am able to reply civilly if tersely to emails from work. I am able to eat pears and not cake for breakfast.

The windows have been pushed all the way open to admit the rain that has poured for 4 days. I am about to make the gritty bed and start on the dishes. I have finally stopped running away from home, and I will not go anywhere or see anyone today.