Dang if I’ve not been in a funk. Call it lassitude. Listlessness. Lethargy. Work is slow. Friends are out of town. It’s hot AF, but I’m too lazy to install my AC unit. The less I do, the less I want to do. Cue the theme to Debbie Downer. Can anyone else relate?

Maybe it’s the big letdown after all the hoopla of my bike ride across Iowa a couple of weeks ago. I trained and prepared for weeks before that ride. And then there was the ride itself, the mental and physical exhaustion of riding up and down 450+ miles of hilly heartland. After weeklong dopamine cocktails of endorphins and serotonin shared with all the other cyclists — 20,000 of my newest friends — maybe I’m just totally hungover.

Since I’ve been back in Park City, I’ve noticed this commercial that’s been airing during the Olympics. It opens with a woman lying on her bed texting, “Think I’m gonna bail,” as a moody song plays in the background. The action switches to a different person, curled up in his living room texting, “Sorry, can’t make it tonight.” Cut to a young woman, Facetiming on her iPhone while she stands by herself on an empty street, “First date in Chicago … aaand, I got stood up.” Cut to a sad-looking guy sitting all alone in his kitchen, a piece of cake with a single candle on the table in front of him.

Text fades up onscreen: “Sometimes showing up makes all the difference.” The commercial quickly cuts to a bizarre assortment of old TV clips of super-random actors (Michael J. Fox, Raymond Burr, David Hasselhoff?!) saying, “I’m on my way,” as the Beatles’ “I Want to Hold Your Hand” plays up and under.

Well, spoiler alert. It’s a goddam commercial for Uber. Never mind that. The idea of showing up is just so powerful. At the first “On my way,” I’m bawling. Every time I watch it. Anyone else feel this?

Or maybe it’s Mercury retrograde, as one of my friends suggested, which kicked in on Aug. 4. Astrologically speaking, that’s the time when the pesky planet seems to be moving backward. See, when Mercury — also the Roman messenger god of commerce and travel — goes retrograde, we Earthlings can feel out of whack, too. As one astrologist points out, “It’s akin to a cosmic timeout. It’s the universe’s way of saying, slow down, reflect, reassess.” Apparently, all I need is some astrological me-time.

I could also chalk it up to the dog days of summer, another mystical phenom for which we can thank the ancient gods. The term harkens from Sirius, the dog star, not the satellite radio station. Myth has it that the constellation, which rises in the beginning of August, is the harbinger of heat, drought, bad luck, mad dogs, and, yes, even lethargy.

I opened my Instagram the other day to a reel made by one of my friends who lives in Paris. The city is quiet, as Parisians traditionally peace out for the entire month of August. Cafes are slow. Streets are empty. It’s even more pronounced this summer, even with the onslaught of Olympics visitors.

In the Instagram reel, my friend appears to be the sole participant in a spin class, pedaling in slo-mo in a dimly lit room as she stares glumly into the camera. “All alone at the gym,” the caption reads. “That’s August in Paris — everyone is smoking and drinking rosé on the beach and I am here watering everyone’s plants.”

A mutual friend posted this conciliatory comment, “Plants are thirsty, too. Think of yourself as the horticultural bartender of summer!” Which is to say, even when you’re alone, you’re not really alone. You have your plant friends to keep you company, if not your smart-ass human ones.

My buddy Matt calls. When he asks how I’m doing, I don’t give him the predictable “Fine!” Instead, I tell him I’m in a funk. “Aww, feelin’ down in Funky Town?” he dad-jokes, genuine concern in his tone. It’s kind of stupid, but we both laugh. He says he feels it, too.

Another friend texts me and a couple other girls to see if we want to meet for a drink at Offset Bier. I arrive around 5:45, excited to catch up. No one is there. I double check my texts and realize we’d agreed to meet at 6:30, not 5:30.

“Can anyone come earlier?” I text the group. My friend Katie immediately shoots back, “On my way!”

I feel myself brightening and it’s not just the glow of my ice-cold Glossier Double IPA. Sometimes, someone showing up for you is exactly what you need to unfunk yourself. And if worse comes to worse, I can always call Uber.