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Not the financial kind, though ultimately likely that also. The sort of one's own. The one she senses gathering on the horizon like storm clouds aware of your name. Food tastes like food's concept. Sleep turns either unattainable or the sole thing you want to accomplish.
She has been here earlier. Knows the route as a commuter knows their morning trip. First the weariness. Then the sloth. Then the segment where getting out of bed seem like mountaineering Everest. Then the horrifying section where you lose concern about your obligation.
The next slump differs from the last one only in how well she has learnt to lie. Better said I'm alright. Better at showing up even she's vacant. Better performing human while feeling like a badly drawn sketch of one. Her counselor probes for signals of warning. It always wins eventually. She just aims to appreciate the gap between.
The eye of the storm.
The breath before drowning.
