Today was one of these days. You know the ones. The ones were you feel like shit.
I woke up in a cold, smelly sweat, and felt like throwing up. I didn't, though. I got myself a cup of coffee, lit up a smoke, and checked some stuff on the web, played some guitar. Then I went out looking for work. Even though I felt like shit, somehow I was in high spirits.
Two hours later, I came back home. I still felt like shit. But I was more or less in a good mood. I started cleaning up my room, and doing some laundry. Then I got started on the dishes. No hot water anymore. So I left the dishes in the sink, and got to work on scanning a comic of mine.
Four hours later, I had finished that too, and felt like shit. My good mood had left me, and I was wondering why I was feeling so down.
It was unfair. I had been lazing around for weeks, and I had felt ok. I was more or less happy. Now that I tried to get some stuff done again, to get myself back in gear, I started feeling like shit.
Was this a sign ? Was I simply not meant to work ? Was I one of the chosen few, the happier the less they accomplished ? Was there no point in me working, except making myself miserable ? Somehow, that seemed wrong.
I kept up the work, because otherwise, all I would do is feel like shit. Better to work and feel like shit than just to feel like shit. I went to check on my bike in the shop, and buy some groceries. I installed the drum-kit in the basement to make my drummer happy. Then I took care of the dishes. After that, I scanned some receipt to get my expenses of my last work-trip paid. You wouldn't imagine how shitty I felt.
Now, all that's left is to write, and to play some more guitar. And I'm slowly starting to feel a bit less like shit. As the sun is setting over the buildings, it feels like some of it's rays are finally reaching me. I don't know why. And I wonder...