Mediocre Days

The most interesting part of depression to me, are the days that are… alright? It’s the mediocre days that are the best. Everyone is familiar with the symptoms of a downward spiral: The feeling of drowning in air, and pushing loved ones away. People talk about these things in hushed voices with worried eyes, but they talk about it. On the other hand, there’s the days that are extremely good. People talk about these days as well. You have exciting news; a new puppy, a raise, and win the lottery all on the same day. All the world’s problems are solved with unconditional love and cheese cake. Contrary to popular belief the outstanding days are worst because when you fly so very high, you have so very far to fall. There’s none of this wings bullshit, remember Icarus? We all know what happens when you fly too close to the sun.

So mediocre days, right? Somehow you fold all the laundry you haven’t gotten to in twenty-four years. In the downward spiral, there’s the messy bun. I’m not talking a cute messy bun like in YouTube tutorials by girls who willingly bleach their assholes either, there isn’t anything nonchalant-classy-chick here my friends. The great days are hair down days. There’s some mother fucking beachy waves or perhaps a wild straightener appears on the horizon? That’s hilarious, I’ve never had a day that good. The mediocre days though? They’re French braid days. Tidy and neat- confident enough to go to Shakespeare in the park alone, maybe.

The days you can’t remember are the best. All the days you remembered to floss. The days the house got vacuumed and you got to bed on time. I’d like to live here for a while.

photo credit https://unsplash.com/@danielcgold

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