I’m having one of those days I used to have in college. I think they were borderline manic. The down side of manic though, not the bouncing off the walls, cleaning frenzy side. I always start to feel this way slowly. It takes a few days of up and down emotional turbulence, which begins to do me in and then the only other ingredient is a slow, semi-depressing song. Somehow, I am able to find one every time and I play it over and over and over and then the words become my emotions and my thoughts and nothing seems right. And I recognize that I totally do this to myself. I get myself in this mood by recognizing it and not fleeing. Instead, I soak it in. I bathe in it. I scrub the glow from my eyes and the warmth from my heart. I sit and stare — out the window or at the wall — and I think about last week or about yesterday or about five years ago and the way it felt when it rained and I ran around in it trying to find shelter, trying to find someone who was home, someone who would open their door and let me in. And I remember the way it felt to feel so empty inside. But instead of remembering that I’m not empty anymore, that I have hope and life and love. That I have friends who would give anything for me and a husband who would die for me and a God that did die for me, I wallow. I know that tomorrow, I’ll wake up and the sun will be shining and work will be better and my back won’t hurt and I won’t have a migraine and I’ll be good. I cling to that now. Because today, I don’t feel well. Here’s to tomorrow.