For better or worse, I go through Damien Rice phases where I can't take my eyes off of floating cannonballs, and I strut around in pajamas for entire days stumbling through the work I have to do. These are not particularly gloomier phases than the rest of the anthill existence, nor are they particularly less motivated. I'm only as bi-polar as the next bi-polar bear, and he's so cuddly and cute.
If anything, they are definitely more poignant phases. Everything takes on a deeper meaning, more things are read into, more lines read between. You could say more thinking is done (therefore more am-ing accomplished?), more pondering.
I used to believe that my Damien Rice phases were triggered by you (plural, obscure, undefined). Now that you has many faces and none of them recent, I am beginning to run out of lightning for my blamestorm. You, perhaps, is a symptom of the phase rather than the other way around.
Be that as it may, I think these are possibly nothing more than a healthy balance for the unbridled optimism and enthusiasm of the high end of the see-saw. They help me to contemplate from my throat, sing from my diaphragm, and stare right through you. Tomorrow I will be back to Jack, Jude, Joe, Jason, Joshua, Justin, and Milow.