I like grey days.
Don’t get me wrong, I like to dance in the sunshine. But there is something about the blue-grey feeling like the color of a far-off bank of clouds when a storm is brewing that makes me want to snuggle down under a blanket on the couch and enjoy a nice, silent cry like a gentle rain. It’s strange how comforting, how safe, a little bit of melancholy can feel sometimes. Like it’s proof that I am capable of feeling more than just happiness, that I have more weather within my soul than just boring old sunshine all the time. That’s one of the things that drove me batty about Los Angeles – it was clear skies and beautiful weather every day for months, and I missed the variety of my home.
The problem, though, is that it is easy to get too comfortable with the blue-grey feeling. Being the artistic person that I am, I relish a little bit of sorrow, even though if asked, I would say I don’t like to be sad. It somehow seems more alive than mere brightness, and it is felt more deeply than prancing through the clouds. It is also more sustainable than flying, and one can’t come crashing to the ground if one is cozily ensconced in a bubble of soft weariness. But if I spend too much time wallowing in my self-indulgent blue-grey emotions, they begin to turn the darker black of storm clouds and begin to block out the sky, so that even if I want to leave them behind and return to the sunnier feelings, I can’t. I’ve tied a rock around my own neck, and the more I try to break away from the sad thoughts, the more I dwell on them, and the more I dwell on them, the heavier the rock grows. As the weight increases, my head is pulled downward until even if the clouds cleared, I wouldn’t know it, because all I can see is the darkness of my own mind; I can no longer lift my eyes to look at the sky.
And sometimes, the best thing I could do when my feelings turn blue-grey is to sleep. Too bad today is one of my long days…I could really use a nap right about now.