I feel tired but not exhausted; put-upon but not abused. A bit silly for craving brownies, a bit inclined to go bake some. And lace them with peppermint oil.
I feel like napping all day and then eating rare steak and drinking burgundy at midnight while watching Downton Abbey. Or possibly South Park.
I feel disenfranchised and misunderstood, but not by an individual. In fact, everyone I know is sympathetic and awesome. So the feelings of misunderstoodedness are, as it were, disembodied.
I'm feeling a sense of vast pointlessness in this humdrum, day-after-day universe, while at the same time I'm haunted by the significance of everything.
I've felt this way before, and there's only one thing to do.
Read Neil Gaiman.