Bad Days plague the calendar. They come barging in without warning and I am left to beg.
No. Please, God, no.
So much needs to get done today, it simply cannot be a Bad Day.
The calendar laughs, arm in arm with the disease of the Bad Day. They dare me to stand up against the weight, but I can't see far enough past them to find the motivation or strength the effort to rise requires. If only I could stretch my neck to lift my head upwards, I might be able to see the light and love and outstretched hands just beyond reach. But I do not know what to look for, and even the thought of beginning the search of some foreign thing drains me, so my eyes close in defeat and the Bad Day reigns again.