south end blues
Mama said there’d be days like this — dark, monsoonal, rivers-over-the-gutter- raindaze. No going outside without full slickers, no possibility of sunbreaks, no phone calls with good news, just a joyless unremittingly bleak nimboculumulus parked on the brainstem. Pull the covers up, go back to sleep, wait it out…. Otherwise you risk taunting the Fates. And do NOT think things can’t get worse. They can always get worse.
These are the days you don’t check your e-mail, you don’t answer those spine-trembling rings, you don’t look at caller ID, you don’t dash for the mailbox. If you get a knock at the door, for all that’s holy and sane, leave by the back door and don’t bother shutting it. Whoever — whatever — is scratching for entry, you don’t want to know. It isn’t Knowledge that’s bliss, pal. Not that bliss is in the forecast. Steady pain is. Intermittent pain. Painstorms followed by pain showers. And forget the umbrellas.
I’m not going to explore the chemical/ hormonal/ meteorological foundations for these days — wouldn’t help anyway and might give you reason for misguided optimism. What you need is the will just to hang on. Think of a splintered board floating by after the ship goes down. Straddle it and go where it takes you — unless it’s DOWN. If you’re a drinker, start early. If you’re employed, take sick leave (it’s no lie!). If you’re religious, beseech your gods. But don’t expect miracles, not today. Today the meek will not inherit the earth. Trust me, they’re the lucky ones…..
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