A week's worth of poor sleeping habits and unusual mental lassitude have not, as they may in a fictional creation, culminated in anything particularly meaningful, but only a persisent, low-level discombobulation and sense of being at odds (although not necessarily in a negative sense) with the world around me. This is acceptable, because I briefly worried that I was once again moving toward the anxiety that I've run into every now and then over the last couple of years. I think that I've avoided that gnawing fate for the time being, however.