It Really Hasn't Been a Good Week
3 December 1999
Yesterday was one of those days whose every detail seemed to magnify the difference between the happiness fondly remembered from one’s past, and the misery felt now.
It has been one of those weeks where sleep comes with difficulty, smiling hurts, and food is chewed far beyond the physiologically-necessary point, because one simply forgets to swallow. A week where every brittle object cried out to be violently broken–cups, plates, bottles to be hurled against walls, roads, trees.
But I am too pragmatic to break crockery in anger. What would it achieve? There have been two victims of this crime, but no perpetrators.
I need to stop this wallowing.