Strange, moody weather in London this week has not helped shift the scudding grey clouds in my head. Not sleeping; drunk suddenly on three glasses of wine; sadness in other lives leaching into mine because I love them and want them to experience only happiness, never pain; unemployed and unemployable; lacking in talent and inspiration; lonely in the eyrie. It could be worse. But it could be better.
Generally I am an optimistic sort, happy to think of the glass as half-full or at least on its way to it, but every now and again the Black Dog comes for me and I have to kick hard to keep my head above water. At those times, perhaps usefully for fiction (if I'm going to try to see a silver lining) the everyday things suddenly help break the clouds...
A perfect apple. Chicken and mushroom soup (my favourite) made by Herself for lunch and dished up with sensible advice and lashings of love. The parent calls to ask herself round for a cup of tea later. Seeing the BF post the parent for photography and more sensible advice and lashings of love. A small white dog sound asleep in a big blue basket. Another writer's blog which inspires and encourages. Rimmel's Heather Shimmer lipstick (so shallow). A literal gap in the clouds, sunshine on my face. Writing a note to a friend on an old picture postcard with a fountain pen. The West Wing.
It's not a cure, but it is a big help. I'm lucky - I know the clouds will shift. In the meantime, I'll keep kicking.
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