The Realist

Some days will be bad days. I will wake up on the wrong side of the bed with nightmares I don’t want to remember. I will lay in my bed, covered by the sweats of tension until I can shake it off long enough to go greet the madness ahead. Nothing will go right. Deadlines will be missed. Efforts and labors will fail. Further more, I will fight and lose against the persistent migraine that I am sure to have. Fear and failure will sit on my doorstep and every memory I have ever fought to forget will haunt me alongside the nightmares I woke up with. I hate those days and their very existence makes me want to scream.

Some days will be good days. I will leave the beauty of my dreams with the freshness of a new love. The morning will open her doors in homage to the strength of my resolve. Every thing I attempt, it will succeed. The planets will align. Wisdom will prevail and a peace, as gold glitters, will shadow me in her wings from anything hurtful. I will be unstoppable. I love those days and their very existence carries me on.

Today is neither of those days (at least not yet). I am not judging the present as it has not yet ended. Perhaps tomorrow I will call today a bad memory and perhaps I may reflect upon it as a day to remember. Either way, the present day, is only what it is. Not optimism, not pessimism, neither guesses nor lies can change that fact. Thinking otherwise is injurious to the moment.

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