No matter how good life is, or how much everything seems to be going in the right direction, bad days are inevitable. What we do with them says a lot about who we are. I’m a wallower. I don’t wallow for long, or indeed indulge myself all that often, but on occasion I have to fight the urge to scream at the world to stop… and let me get off. I get a perverse enjoyment out of being miserable. I can feel sorry for myself with the best of them.
A mate of mine sent me this photo of his dog, Hammer. I’m not a huge animal fan, having lost a series of pets as a child to traffic, poison, and bigger animals. I learned early not to get attached, but Hammer … him I like. There’s an empathy there – I swear he can talk and read minds.
Today – a holiday here in Hungary that dawned warm and sunny, and started off well with some exciting creative prospects in the offing and a lovely breakfast with a good mate. And then, just as a sudden storm might brew, or a cloud disgorge an ocean of rain, my inbox swelled to overflowing. It seems that everyone wanted a piece of me…yesterday.
I worked for hours on a particularly nasty proofreading job and found myself increasingly wondering about the possibility of a career change. This is unusual. I like working with words, without human interference, just me and my track changes or my red pen. I like it so much, in fact, that I don’t even consider it work. But today, today was different.
Today I wanted to disappear. To get on that boat. To go somewhere without Internet. Without people (well, maybe not all people). But I have a deadline – a series of deadlines in fact – that forecasts pretty much the same for the next few days. So I stopped and took time to wallow. And then I looked at the second photo PM sent.