Just a passing phase

Not even sure about posting this. The first five words are clearly bullshit or I wouldn’t have come back to the start to add this and seriously consider deleting the lot. Anyway…

I don’t mind telling you I was in foul mood when I got home this afternoon.

I’m not sure what happened. Work went reasonably well again, I think and I was happy enough when I came out of there. I went to arrange something for my Lady and I and then headed for the Airport to wait for my bus.

At some point between making the arrangements and getting on the bus, something almost crumbled. I turned my iPod on and gazed dully out of the window all the way into the city. It was cold and foggy when I got off the bus. Normally I like the fog, sensing the mysterious, almost ethereal quality it can bring. Today it just made me miserable. Every step up the hill I have to walk up was harder than the one before, my legs heavier.

I walked through the door at about 6 this evening, I think. A long day. I walked off a cold, foggy street into a cold, dark house. For a few minutes I wandered around it, not taking my coat off and leaving the music raging in my ears. I leaned against an ugly, veneered chipboard wall…thing and closed my eyes, feeling the prickle of tears behind them.

Nothing was different at the house from other days, I don’t know what happened or why. Let’s just put it down to a long day and not enough sleep. I’m usually fairly stoical (“very zen” I was told last week!) but this evening when I walked in it was too much. Thinking about it, the tears had been brewing for some time. Maybe it was only when I got in the safety of my home that I could let them go.

I didn’t make me feel any better, though. I sullenly made myself a coffee and trudged upstairs to heat the most easily heated room in the house. I may have dozed for a while before rousing myself to do what needed to be done – food, laundry, washing up, hoovering, you know the routine, I’m sure.

I’m still not right. I have this sour taste in my mouth and a feeling like I’m constantly on the verge of hiccoughing! Tomorrow, though, is another day, as a lady once said in the movies. I’ll be grand, as the locals say! Once the tumble drier has finished and I’ve remade the bed, I shall turn in and hope for better tomorrow. Waking up and reaching to pull myself up by my bootstraps is something I can do. It’s only just struck me that it was Sunday today and I that I have something of “a history” with Sundays recently.