Thursday’s Child

Thursday seemed to bludgeon me with its cranky souls and its windy weather.  I rose early, near five a.m., as the sun crept through the transom and danced off the cobwebs.  Making my way down my narrow stairs, I paused to watch two spiders tango with a ray of gold.  I thought the day held promise, despite my creaky back and the shudder in my lower legs.  I was wrong; but I cannot be blamed for that brief burst of enthusiasm right after coffee.

Now I’m home.  The quiet competes with the constant ringing in my ears, some kind of company, I suppose.  Cold seeps through the open windows in my little sitting room, battling its cozy allure and possibly winning.  I stand in the growing gloom and think about this quest, my desire to be an uncomplaining soul.  The seeming futility of it nearly makes me smile.

I was born on Labor Day Monday but I have never felt like a Monday’s child, fair of face.  I feel more like Thursday’s child, with a longer way to travel than the whole lot of them.  I sink onto the loveseat and think about everything that I’ve done since I moved to California.  Thoughts of the ocean, the vineyards, the hours that I’ve spent driving in the Delta overwhelm me.  I lean back against the embroidered coverlet that I got from my realtor as a tiny-house-warming present after she had yelled at me in the driveway of my bungalow back home.

I’ve never liked that damned blanket, to be honest; even though it’s actually quite lovely.

 I know, as certain as I know each nuance of the ever-present pain which courses through my body, that tomorrow will be another day, perhaps even a better day.  I look around this sweet little refuge.  I think, Maybe you just need sleep.  I shake myself and rise.  I tell myself a cup of tea always makes the world look brighter.  I say it out loud:   A cup of tea makes the world look brighter.   I’ve got the blues, tonight, that’s all.   I tell myself that, over and over.  Just make yourself a cup of tea, you’ll get there.

I’m hoping that I don’t have much farther to go.

It’s the twentieth day of the eighty-ninth month of My Year Without Complaining.  Life continues.

Steve Earle and Emmylou Harris performing Steve Earle’s song, “Goodbye”


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