Dear One of Those Days,

I love big, complicated words. Quotidian is one I particularly like.

quo·tid·i·an (kwōˈtidēən), adjective. Ordinary or everyday, especially when mundane.  “His story is an achingly human one, mired in quotidian details.”

Painkillers change people, too. Here, have some. What do you mean, “What am I implying?”

And it fits; today is quotidian.
Wake up in pain.
Take morning pills.
Take pain pills.
Take the dog for a walk.
Eat breakfast. More pain.
Take pills.
Fall into an exhausted sleep.
Wake up. More pain.
Take pills.
Eat breakfast’s cereal for lunch. More pain.
Take pills.
Wait for 5 p.m. to feed the dog, wait for more pain.
Know there will be more pills.
Wait for bedtime; wait for sleep disturbed by pain.
Take night pills.
Wait for morning.
Wait for more pain.
Wait for more pills.
 Today I have no sun to shine on this. My frightening ability to always find the silver lining, to always imagine a happy outcome, to always see the best in people and situations has abandoned me.
The mundanity of my quotidian life is wearing on me. I need to find something to look forward to. I need to find some color and joy to bring back into my life.
It’s just so hard to go looking for those things when I’m mired in the pain/pills cycle.
But while I’m trapped here, I’m still
Payne.
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2 thoughts on “Dear One of Those Days,

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