The genie inside the bowl told me of his lowest day eighteen fortnights ago. The day he did not feel like a genie. He awoke yet his eyes cried for the return of rest. The one wish he could not concede plagued his mind. He did not know how. He could not bend the rules of time to fulfill the most human desire which is to wish to never have to wish that the present day was not a bad day.
Like the transaction between a poker dealer and the man with no fear in his eyes, we barter with life on a cyclical game of poker. Sometimes the house wins, and it hurts like a thumb tacker. A pair 2s is so inconsequential against life happening. No genie can stand in the way of life happening.
The genie in the bowl told me to make the most of this low day happening, go on a stroll, to take care of myself and recognize that today is just a bad day. Perhaps tomorrow will be better, in the meantime get some sleep and to try again tomorrow. The genie in the bowl did give me a wish. Now I know how to recognize a bad day.