I’ve noticed something in myself. I encounter a letdown after a big project. I invest blood, sweat and tears most of the time into them – and there are huge labor pains, a big release and then I let go. After a couple of days, I’m in a numb stage and it reminds me of nothing so much as post-partum depression. A certain listlessness, a certain restlessness, a desire to watch melancholy movies or play piano pieces in minor keys.
The melancholy is nice to begin with – as Jaques claims about himself in Shakespeare’s As You Like It, I “sucks melancholy from a song, as a weasel sucks eggs.” For a while, it’s a nice place to be – melancholy without maudlin. But then.
It’s like the feeling you get when you don’t brush your teeth for a long time; they get rough and mossy. Or when you don’t get dressed and hang around the living room in your pajamas. It’s OK for a while, but.
So today, I sit around, sipping hot tea and eating split-pea soup. Tomorrow, I’ll begin again.