The worst aspect of my depression is what I've come to think of as "black dog time," when my enthusiasm for anything takes an Acapulco cliff-dive. It's a hard state of mind to describe-- in fact, it's a hard state of mind to even detect, and even once you have detected it it's hard to give a damn because you're, well, depressed. It's a mental cloud in which one remains perfectly capable of taking action, but primarily obsessive action, self-centered action. Not caring, conscientious, or constructive action. A depressive is supremely skilled at entertaining themselves now because now is all depression ever lets you have. It sharply retracts your chronological horizon. Now is everything, even if, to parahprase Patton Oswalt, now is consumed by sitting in bed and watching The Princess Bride 17 times in a row.
Yeah, I recognise that all right.
The whole thing is here.
 The essential The Lies of Locke Lamora, a con/heist/revenge novel and Red Seas Under Red Skies which is more of the same, but with pirates, more egregious cliffhangers and a plot that makes slightly less sense. The recommendation: Read Lies, and if you like it try RSURS.