I look around to see if there is anything in my line of sight that could describe the way I feel today.
But I see nothing. There is nothing that looks “melancholy”. Nothing.
The flowers David bought me yesterday are cheery and perky.
The hat I wear to cover my bald head from the sun is still neat and trim.
The leaves on the trees are still green and especially so since yesterday’s rain.
The clouds are more angry looking or blah – that’s not the same thing.
Nature is not cooperating with me today – there is nothing that speaks melancholy.
So – I am alone in this state. Maybe that’s the thing. I ought not to feel this way. How is it possible to feel melancholy and yet not be able to find it anywhere. That ought to make me sad – but it makes me feel like I need to snap out of it. I see beauty where I look. I am surrounded by love where I look. I am comforted by the luxuries of home.
Melancholy has no taste. It has no smell. It has no one to keep it company today – but for me. And I don’t want to be there. Is that why it is failing me? I cannot sink into it. I cannot rest with it. I cannot enjoy it. If I did -I would be alone. And I don’t want that.
And then, I remember, I am often of this state of mind .. a “day 5” per se, just before chemo. And it is four days till my next and final (for now) chemo. I do not look forward to it. I “ought” to as then – this session will be finished. I have many questions this time. I have many doubts. It is difficult to see past this “end” to see what is next.
Melancholy is the wall I cannot see through. It is a window that is speckled with dust. Melancholy is time that drags on. I don’t want to do this dance with it anymore. It is the unwanted partner that intrudes between the me I want to be and the me I find myself being when I am with it. Melancholy is alone. I am more lonely with it – than without it. Yet, I find I hold it’s hand for company. It drags me down. I talk to it for feed-back and it drags me down. I whisper it’s name and it takes it presence beside me.
No more dance. No more being alone. No more whispers.
The enemy of melancholy.
My weapon of choice.
My goodness… when will I ever learn? Tell me, “Quando, quando, quando?”