My mother used to cook a dish made by stewing lamb chops with vegetables until it all became a grayish-brown slop. The ingredients were indistinguishable, their color and flavor long gone.
I hated it. My heart would sink when I learned that was to be the evening meal. The most I could hope for was masking it with bread and butter.
Sometimes my emotional life feels like that slop. My mood is murky and featureless and I can’t identify what contributed to it. I’m filled with dread and doom but I have no idea why.