Today is shaping up to be a fully-fledged, five-star, top of the range example of One of Those Days. It started badly at 5 am when I woke and couldn’t get back to sleep: so eventually I sat up and tried to meditate. But OH was fidgeting too much so I went downstairs, spread out my mat and began. All was well for about five minutes, when OH decides it’s time to get up. Footsteps clonking down the stairs. The door opens. The steps enter.
‘Are you OK?’
‘Meditating,’ I say. The word, uttered through gritted teeth, just about makes it out of my mouth.
Well, honestly – I’m sitting cross-legged with my head and shoulders covered: what did you think I was doing?
OH then proceeds to open the curtains with a swish of fabric and a clacking of wooden curtain rings. And when I complained, he had the nerve to lecture me about my levels of concentration!
So we have re-established the ground rule: if meditating, do not disturb.
After that my brain was all over the place. I managed to drink tea, do crossword and yoga but then there was no bread for breakfast and when there was it was squashed, difficult to cut and impossible to make into soldiers. I need soldiers with my egg!!!
At this point I decided that today was going to be one of those days. But here’s the thing: vis-a-vis yesterday’s post, was it the things that happened or was it my reaction to them? Was I predisposed to react irritably because I hadn’t slept well? OK that in itself makes it one of those nights, upon the heels of which may well follow one of those days, but sleeping badly doesn’t always make me irritable. Sometimes I’m depressed; more often than not I’m just tired.
After breakfast I went upstairs to start work. Everything was going just fine when I got a text from the bank: I’ve gone over my limit again. Yep, that just about sums it up. I’ve gone over my limit again; and from having a small but just about adequate amount to see me through the next week or two, I now have no money at all.
I have to say, sometimes it’s very hard indeed to ‘love only what happens.’ But is it the things or is it me? Or both?
It’s ironic that I should be feeling this on International Women’s Day, a day of celebration about how far we’ve come (when I was young the phrase was, ‘You’ve come a long way, baby’, which sounds incredibly patronising nowadays.)
But there it is. That’s what’s happened.
You’ve gotta love it.