Being sad

Ah me, I’ve been having a bit of a hard day today. The kind of day no amount of chocolate or tea or hugs can really fix. The kind of day where you can’t stop crying and nothing seems good and you ache all over. I have an essay due on Monday, but when I tried reading the texts I’m using, the words didn’t make sense, like my brain has put up a solid wall so nothing can get through, like those words are just fingernails scraping the the inside of my skull.

It’s a good day. It’s just not sinking in. It’s one of those sunny Autumn days, it’s cold in the house, but I’ve been sitting in a big easy chair with my feet on the window and they’re warm. A Miner bird came up and perched on the window ledge and examined them very carefully with his shiny, yellow rimmed eyes, he’s probably never seen seen the soles of a human being’s feet before.

We’re dog sitting in the suburbs, and it’s very quiet. Across the road is a little pocket of pine forest, a children’s playground. Maybe I’ll go into the crisp afternoon, maybe I’ll play on the swings like kids do, run through the shadows and the sun.

Downstairs my boyfriend is playing scales on the piano. I love listening to him play. It’s sparkly music. Silence and he comes up the stairs. I need lots of hugs, I tell him, and he obliges. Then he makes me tea. It might not fix everything, but at least, now, I can recognise just how nice a hug and a cup of tea are. A hug and a cup of tea and sparkles on your feet.

 

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