Once an epic meltdown ensues, an epic collapse is imminent. How long the collapse lasts is anyone's guess. All I can ask is that I emerge unscathed to start the cycle again, someday.

And as ferocious and sudden as the collapse manifests, so too the renewal.

It's a light switch, the day when you open your eyes in the morning and decide to rise. To tackle your back-logged responsibilities. To make your living. To do your chores.

A little fatter. A lot unhealthier. Groggy. You pray to your mortal body to give you just one more chance, to muster the strength to heal, and to put your outer shell back together again, even though the whole thing was your brain's fault.

The brain is rested, now the rest of the organism can proceed with its business of living. What a selfish little prima donna, that brain, it must think.

I woke up yesterday from what must have been a coma. The sleep was so intense and regenerative that I felt as if my brain had been bleached clean. I was afraid to get up and go out into the world for fear of dirtying it, but I did.

It was fine.