My ultra-personal inner monologue

A dark and stormy night

What a terrible title for something truly terrifying.

Surely this is one of my darkest and most stormy nights. I am always reminded of the honourable Winston Churchill, who referred to his moods as ‘the black dog’. when I am low as I am tonight, I have barely enough energy left to fully appreciate that troublesome description.

The last time I felt this heavy was during September of 1999, when I could not scrape together enough money from any sources to buy a single packet of cigarettes. This night sees us in a similar predicament, but not yet so severe.

The saddest part of it is that I should be brought low by something as base as money and finance. My track record with it is not good, and I have a problem saving it – whenever I have it I spend or else I loan and spend it.

Inevitably I end up in a sorry state bemoaning my position. Perhaps I will get such a fright this time that I learn my lesson? Eight years ago I was the only person inconvenienced by my lack of monetary smarts, today is an entirely different matter as there is a family who depends upon me.

It has not yet gone 2 o’clock, but the young Ada runs to my arms every several minutes. Like her sister before her at that exact age, she has an uncanny ability to sense my mood as well as my sleep. And – like her sister – she abuses both. With all my love.

In a mood like this I find myself grasping around in the dark searching for tiny nuggets of happiness to clutch. Moments like a daughter’s embrace in her sleep, or the telephone call from a prospective employer ending a drought, or the belief in one’s own abilities come to mind. They are dim little lights in comparison to this overwhelming darkness.

But they are lights nonetheless.


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