People in their right minds – or moods anyway – don’t anticipate their next inevitable bad day. The appearance of them every once in a while proves their unfortunate existence, but people in their right minds don’t dread bad days on a daily basis.
I don’t dread such days either. I live down days every day of my life.
A good day is the out of the norm experience for me.
The words, I feel good, dawn as a surprise, a foreign thought and sensation.
What should be the modus operandi of my life, with the occasional interruption of shitty days, becomes a cause for suspicion. A lightness of mood, a clarity of mind, becomes the bone of contention. That is the square peg for the round hole – rather than the overall scheme being the problem.
I feel my psyche has sucked me into a trap; luring me closer with the promise of bright light and fresh air, only to drape me in cobwebs deeper and darker than before. Instead of experiencing a ‘ lightness of being’, I drag around the weight of fear – that it won’t last, that my life will never be the way it was before the clouds.
. . . That we should all bask in the warmth of sunshine on our skin . . .