Complicated

So I'm thinking about depression, having fielded that question from Formspring. (See sidebar-)
Overall, I'm at an okay place depression-wise. Not great, not bad.
I am not sad, anyway...But that begs the question of what depression really is. What defines it?
Because I do seem to be in the mires of a different kind. The kind where I do nothing most of the time. I haven't the energy to muster the simplest of tasks, like getting ready. I have lists of things to do, to make- things I am dreading, things I am procrastinating, and even things I am excited and passionate about. Yet, they remain undone.I feel like I am visibly deteriorating as I watch the world go by my window and dream of myself apart of it, apart of the difference I want to make in myself, my environment and those I love. I seem to love and nurture the promise of what could be, relishing in the fantasy of change and the dream of the perfect me, the me I create in my mind and my utopian life. I love the changes I enact in my imagination, the shape I take when I apply these aspirations and goals and allow them to carve out the person I feel beneath the layers of detritus that weigh me down, both literally and figuratively.
But here I sit, typing. I am good at writing it out, not so good at acting on it.
So, is that depression?
Do they have a medication for what would appear to be laziness? It looks like laziness but feels a lot more complicated.
I don't want my life to be described as a long list of aspirations and things I wanted to do, the person I dreamed of being and changing, but wrote about instead.