Weird Day

Some days have their own peculiar character, and I saw this one coming.

I woke up suddenly, worried that I'd overslept again and missed yoga again, while the memories of my dreams leaked away. Dreams are weird, by nature, but these dreams were so far removed from things I know or think that it was like someone else's brain had dreamed them. They were not happy dreams in which things were going well.

I got up and felt that twinge in my hip -- that old pain that I thought had gone away, but today it was back -- just as I heard the cat peeing on the rug. Bad cat. After I’d cleaned the rug and scrubbed the floor, there was the sound of cat fight outside, then cat belting back into apartment, back up and tail at full fluff. Just as I was about to leave the house, she threw up next to the bed.

On the car radio I heard a news report about a death of a man after a fairly routine drunken fight and arrest at the club of the rugby team that all my facebook friends were talking about this morning. I remembered that last night my usually quiet neighbours had had a loud, drunken row as I was trying to get to sleep.

I arrived at yoga to find my favourite teacher absent and my least favourite teacher in her place. I spent the class worrying about how to answer the email I'd read this morning.

Yep - the signs are all here.

A few weeks ago I'd had a day that started out badly. I was mentally listing each of the signs and telling myself "This is going to be a bad day". Then, realising that I was creating a truth for myself with this mindset, decided to set superstition against superstition and turn the day around. I took the sighting of a very cute ginger cat and the jovial helpfulness of a man in a motorcycle shop as good signs. The day was back in balance.

This day however, I'm not so sure I will beat. Not being a 9-5 office worker, I don't really get the concepts of holidays and weekends, but today the Public Holiday-ness of this Monday is palpable. Its drifting rudderlessness, and the echo of thousands of hangovers -- after two "Saturday nights" in a row -- seems to permeate the atmosphere. My whole city feels hungover. The sky is grey and weighty, rainy at times. Even when a bit of sun breaks through it feels oppressive and indecisive.

It seems as good a day as any to do the dreaded housework, while I observe and note and see what unfolds.

I also remember the wisdom last night of Steven Fry on telly describing depression. It's like the weather. Some days are rainy. You can't do anything about that. But even though it feels like forever, the rain will stop and the sun will come out.

Everything has its cycles.