It’s been rainy for the last several days here. Since I’m used to the fabled 300 days of sunshine, the clouds tend to throw me toward the bluesy side of the mood spectrum. I don’t mind in the least.
Rather, I find a sort of poetic beauty in the blues. Rain inspires me to write (songs, blogs, stories,) draw (usually with blues and grays,) and make music (often with a lot of minor chords.)
However, in my state of poetic depression I tend to write sad and depressing things. The sadder I write, the more I worry that people won’t take me seriously. So today I decided (while journaling) to write the saddest, most depressing things I could think of, and then everything else I write will seem relatively bright and cheery.
(It gets awful from here on out — you’ve been warned.)
Scene one: Annie is a reasonably pretty, reasonably intelligent 20-something female. Her cat (fluffy, cute, stupid) just died, which, coupled with unemployment and singlehood has thrown her into a deep depression. As she walks home from work, all her cares flood over her and she begins to cry. She fights the tears, but they overpower her. People on the sidewalk walk faster after seeing her, looking away uncomfortably.
Scene two: After arriving home, Annie weeps copiously whilst searching the house for her journal and a pen. She finds a suitable notebook, and eagerly looks about for a writing instrument so she can pour out her cares to the impartial pages. She can’t find a pen.
Scene three: Annie dials up her best friend. As she vents on the phone, her friend says “Oh, boyfriend just walked in, bye!” and hangs up.
Scene four: Feeling the need to clear her head, Annie leaves the apartment to go for a walk, but it starts to rain so she heads back to get an umbrella. She’s locked out of the apartment.
All right, I’d best stop there, before this turns into verbal suicide.
Poor Annie. I almost feel bad for giving her such an awful life.