It's 10 in the morning. I've started the laundry and straightened the house, made the bed and cleaned up the kitchen. Now I'm taking a moment to sit in the backyard swing, huddled up with my big red journal and fountain pen, scrawling words in purple ink on cream colored pages.
It's a gentle pursuit for an emotionally fragile day. I have been tip toeing about the house with a slight headache and a vaguely gloomy outlook. I think I'm "dabbling in depression". Sort of trailing my toes in the dark waters, just to get a feel for it don't you see....
It's an odd place to be. If some fairy godmother suddenly appeared and offered to grant me wishes, I don't think I could even come up with anything coherent to ask for. My ennui springs from some unknown source and is therefore difficult to banish. "Go back to the rock you crawled out from under" is not a specific enough curse. And everybody knows, you have to pronounce the words properly or they don't work. I mean even First Years at Hogwarts know this.
So until I come up with the magic words, I wander in the garden smiling wanly at the riot of blossoms, but not joining in their revels. I observe the big black bumble bees crashing inexpertly into the ruby colored hollyhocks, covering themselves with pale yellow pollen, wondering if they are tired of being black and are trying to make a fashion statement. "Pale yellow is THE color this year." I think I heard one of them buzz out to the others, as he flew off.
In any case, thank goodness for journals and pens and purple ink, calming surroundings and blackberries fresh from the vines. Even they are so kind as to be the variety with no thorns. I think my garden knows I couldn't take anything harsh today.
I've even taken to missing my Robbie today. The less said about that the better.
I won't be this fragile forever. Ms. Manic may show up on my doorstep any day now.Though her slightly hysterical countenance might frighten me at this juncture. But as she always says....
"Tomorrow is another day!"