Some days I wake up with a black dog at my ankles. It is heavy and growls in a deep, bone freezing way.
Some days the dog stays sleeping, and doesn’t accompany me about my business. It waits patiently for me until bedtime, when I often go to sleep without disturbing it.
Some days it slinks downstairs with me, shadowing my morning, but is happy to stay at home. Waiting for me. Waiting for its opportunity.
Some days, like today, the dog bites my ankle and I cannot shake it free. It’s presence is like a weight about me, in my head slowing my thoughts, as well as slowing my stride.
Some days I can ignore it’s terrible presence, but on Some Days I can’t.
Today was a Some Day.
The dog has slunk through my waking hours, it’s dark coat masking all the colours around me, until all I can see is a monochrome landscape, and I can’t escape.
The darkness weighs a thousand tonnes, my brain cannot think and my eyes water. I can’t see the brightness of my children or the scenery. All I can make out is a wasteland.
My dog doesn’t visit as often as he did. For long months and years he was my faithful companion, his cold breath chilling me. But with help he wakes less now.
But on days when he does stop by, I forget that my life now has colours, and can only see the muted shades as glimpses in the fog.
I hope tomorrow he will stay asleep. I hope he will one day run away.