Grey Day

Sometimes, there are days in which everything seems gray. It always happens on a cloudy day where the house looks darker than normal and nothing really seems right. It's a day when everyone has a dull or bad day, or when something momentous happens but you feel like you can't do anything about it at all.

My mother had a masectomy because of breast cancer today, and asked me not to go to the hospital. I respected her wishes with the promise I would go visit later in the week, when she felt up to it. The knowledge of her in the hospital hung over me like a cloud as I threw myself into my work of applying for jobs, scanning job sites and working on an article. I would pause and stare at the grey world outside my window. It held the promise of rain and the smell of the inevitable in the air. The ground is dry and thirsty, but nothing happened. The clouds were still.

I stared at the bottom of my screen all day, desperately hoping for an email. Nothing. I've had a few more bites but no responses. How can they tease me and let me hang? How rude is that? I would call schools and organizations to be put on hold, shuffled to a machine or told they were not hiring. Each time I would hang up a little more discouraged.

My husband came home late after having a terrible day at work. I stroked his head and watched as his eyes dropped with worry and stress.

I spend the majority of my time writing happy, cheerful pieces. I don't like to focus on the negative, and I don't like to whine. I'll joke about my job quest and create a funny spiel on how I fell on the ground or burned another cake- but sometimes it just feels false. I'm a unnaturally upbeat and cheerful person most of the time. But on a grey day, I just don't feel I can be. I think part of it is I've been hiding my feelings about my mother. I've been shuffling my worry and concern into a small little box and draped a cover of optimism and positivity over it. But on a grey day and darker night, the worry climbs out of the box and shakes the cover off.

Even now, I feel like I shouldn't write this. "Excuse me," my Invisible Friends, the readers that aren't really there say, "This isn't about burnt waffles. This isn't about ducks. The Blonde Duck is depressed. There are tons of blogs about whining. That's not why we like yours. Talk about falling, dancing or farting in the grocery store. Don't talk about cancer. Don't talk about how you're upset about not having a job. Consider yourself lucky, shut up, and give me something fun to read."

Well, Invisible Friends, today is a grey day. Tomorrow will be normal again, and things will start to fall into place. It's just amazing I have so much good in my life: a wonderful husband, supportive friends, nurturing family and in-laws, talent and a nice home. I don't have to get a job if I don't want. At the same time, there's pain: My mother, my developing sense of idenity, the loneliness of long days and the concern maybe I'm not being the best person I should be. And that mix of white and black, that mix of happy and sad, is what makes it a grey day.

Don't worry- you'll have a happy post tomorrow.