Sometimes, I’ll wake up in the mornings and realize that I’m no longer alone. I have a not-so-frequent visitor–one that is never welcome–and he knows just how to bring me down. Having him around makes it nearly impossible to get anything done: from blogging, to house work, to anything remotely fun. In fact, this not-so-frequent visitor really only makes me want to sit on my couch, buried beneath an afghan, wasting my day while dirty laundry and empty water bottles pile up around me like so much trash.
He makes me feel sad, worthless, and lethargic. Sometimes, he makes me so angry that I tremble. He brings with him all the bad feelings in the world and dumps them on my shoulders, clearly expecting me to carry his baggage throughout my day.
On most days, I can cope with these frustrations. I’ll cry in the shower, or watch Firefly reruns on DVD, or vent to my husband, or join a cause that makes me feel like I’m making a difference. Exercise helps. Writing, too. Sometimes throwing paint on a canvas and pretending I’m an artist is all it takes to keep the visitor from latching on, dragging me down.
There I’ll be, minding my own business, and suddenly—*knock knock.* And there’s the visitor, ready to drag me down into the depths of despair over something as trivial as bad grammar.