Grey Morning

  
Does anyone like leaving vacation? I woke up grey–not quite blue, but definitely grey. I’m first up, outside, piano ballads on the headphones. The sun is behind the clouds. I drank more last night than I often do anymore. No hangover, but plenty of reflection. I kept thinking that I would write something last night as a part two to Good Morning–some kind of good night post written outside in the light of the fire, under the stars, but writing at night feels different it seems. Like the darkness makes me want to say more than I would normally. In American Horror Story Freak Show, the character of Elsa Mars says about her showtime, “…when the darkness moves in and speaks of mystery, the unknown. When logic loosens its vice grip and the imagination comes out to play. Night allows the stars to shine and we come alive.” I love that part–that moment because the night does still hold mystery for me. We say and do things that we wouldn’t do in the light of day. 

But I couldn’t write; I had been writing all day, but once the sun went down, I couldn’t put it down anymore. It turned into lengthy letters of regret. My mind began to wander–think about the past, the future, possibility, impossibility. If I shared what I wrote when I was free from the daily life that keeps me grounded, it would probably be ramblings of a lonely girl in love with books, music, theorists, artists, fictional characters. In the dark I can believe in the romance of my youth, in the daytime I tell myself everything is political; there is no great mystery, there is only the collective need for love and compassion. My intellect rules the daytime and my emotions rule the night. 

But today I’m grey, so my intellect and emotions are warring for control. I want to avoid discontent, dissatisfaction, restlessness. As Florence + the Machine says,”regrets collect like old friends, here to relive your darkest moments…I can never leave the past behind…I like to keep my issues drawn. It’s always darkest before the dawn.” The fighter in me wells up–tells me to shake it out. Has me dancing alone in the woods to get the devil off my back. It’s okay to feel the pull of the dark–the mystery, the romance–but the sun always comes back up. There is always a new day–no night lasts forever no matter how wonderful. 

Grey or not, my day will move forward in orderly fashion. Soon, I’ll wake up my daughter and we’ll measure out our day in finger pricks and insulin shots. It was a lovely night last night, but I still prefer the morning. I can’t handle the heartbreak of a beautiful night but I love it anyway. The sky is still overcast, but I’m shaking out the grey. One last quiet moment alone in the woods before I go home. 

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