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.