Northern Wish

Tom Thomson, The Jack Pine, 1917.

Wake up, raise the curtains
From your deep provincial eyes.
-- The Rheostatics, Northern Wish.

Why are the best days often so tightly wound with despair? It began viciously enough, with the sound of the radio dispatching the news of another captive being forced to demand this and that on cnn. They'll cut her head off.

Myself? Well I sat in the rain, and listened to sad songs. I watched the street cars float by in a wash of wet surf, and thought about wasted opportunities. By the time I got to work, I was destroyed. I could barely concentrate, but later, somewhere around 8pm, things began to reinterpret themselves under the light of the optimist in me. All that was melancholic had become angelic. The past two days have been 72 hours I will never forget. Lifting children into bed and noticing how much they've changed since birth. Listening to the sweet sound of a band hitting its rhythm in the middle of a song they have played for years. Having a drink and making eyes at women in silk dresses with naked backs wrapped in faux fur. Would these moment's exist in their clarity if they were not preceded by rainy skies, foggy windows, couples strolling arm in arm, empty cafes. and blank call display's that tell you the phone hasn't rung in three days?

When I am ill, very ill, I look forward to wellness. I think of the things I will do, what I will eat, the movies I will watch, and the places I will go. So that when the sickness finally does subside, a euphoric moment takes hold, and everything is hyper-good. Even though it's only temporary, this is how I feel right now.