I've often laid in bed and counted the fissures, cracks, trembles of my ceiling, endlessly, maybe imagining myself getting out of bed but ultimately failing to do so. It's not a pretty look. Your voice becomes coarse, pharyngealized, and you can't help then thinking how silly you would look to anyone else, a grown man unable to get out of bed or let alone begin to live.
I get a bit sentimental when it comes to these things. I imagine a zoomer would call me "gay" or something.