For each of these EOTD posts, I’m going to throw my title/emotion into GImages and choose the labeled-for-reuse photo that makes me laugh out loud. I shouldn’t have to say anything about the above other than “horse face,” do I?

Today, I’m trying to pick up my bruised and dusty self after falling off the wagon this week. Typically this phrase is applied to the dark descent into the dependence of alcohol and/or drugs, or a less drastic but just as dangerous binge eating episode.

My tumble has been less black and white, dealing with a gradual decline of a harder to identify emotion: motivation.

For the last month, I have been kicking ass. Humility aside, I was keeping up the 100mph self-improvement kick with remarkable longevity (for me, anyway). You see, I generally have the attention span of a sugar-infused toddler on Christmas morning–what my parents would lovingly and exasperatedly refer to as none.

But I was really killing it–and I started to adapt to it as routine rather than a reluctant list of chores. Work 8 hours straight with no Buzzfeed bingeing or online shopping? Check. Gym for an hour, home cooked meal, lunch and breakfast prepared for the next day? Check. I had even religiously applied a (somewhat ineffective) night cream before bed every night. That’s dedication.

But this past weekend brought lazy family time, boozy, bad-food-filled reunions with friends, and little to no exercise other than a hungover walk (okay, crawl) on the old, beat up treadmill on the back porch.

You’ll start back up Monday, I promised myself on Saturday as my mom and I split a steaming dish of crab mac and cheese.

I’ll just spend tomorrow night cleaning up, I reasoned as I flopped in bed Monday night, too tired from the drive to even consider unpacking.

Now it’s Wednesday, and even though I dutifully brought my gym clothes to work and vowed to make lunch for the rest of the week last night, I feel…empty.

Devoid of motivation. Lacking in energy and spirit. Generally all-around unconcerned for my emotional and physical well-being.

Even the little things seem like giant mountains to climb. Meditate for ten minutes before bed? I’d rather sleep. Put on coffee before my shower? I’d rather sleep…and oversleep. Sort and separate my summer/winter clothes? You get the picture.

I know that a large part of this fall of my proverbial wagon has to do with pure sadness over losing a friend. It also, in part, has to due with my creeping suspicion that I’m getting a cold/flu/malaria. But it’s almost worse to knowingly watch yourself fall, get angry at your lack of willpower, but hit the ground anyway.

Here’s to picking myself up tomorrow.