Nights and Days

It’s bizarre how different my mornings are from my evenings.

Mornings are a time of sleepy competence, when I may not want to be up but I can still make coffee and get dressed on time. Sitting in my car or drinking more coffee at work, it’s easy to plan the day. It’s easy to decide that I won’t drink or smoke too much today, that I’ll be productive and pleasant, if not happy.

Something else takes over my brain when I get home in the evening. I can’t quite believe the change. There’s a certain nagging sadness like a little angry worm in my chest. Last night I drove to a book store in the midst of quickly alternating sorrow and panic. Bookstores are a heady experience in that frame of mind. So many stories just sitting there, calling out. I wandered around trying not to cry. I left without buying anything.

I don’t entirely understand how I can be both of these people, Normal Morning Person and Broken Evening Person. Something about sunset just sets me off.

This entry was posted in Anxiety, Being Crazy, Depression and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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