All right, my friends.  Here’s how it is: I found myself down in the depths of despair for a while there, but I realised I didn’t like it much in that hole.  It was dark.  And dank.  And cold.  It made me sneeze a lot.  And I hate sneezing, so I decided to climb out.  I peeled myself out of the covers on my memory foam mattress, took one last longing look at the impression of my body that was quickly disappearing, and brushed my dadgum teeth.  Then I trimmed my fingernails.

And I learned this: things don’t seem as bad once you’ve brushed, flossed, and clipped your fingernails.  You could be getting evicted, but at least you can flip your landlord the bird with nice-looking fingers.  There’s always that.

Then, I battled my foes of the day—earwigs.  I hate those varmints.

Surely you can’t blame me.  We all have our dragons to fight—mine are earwigs.  Image from here.

I reclaimed my yard waste from the dirty devils, and took a truckload of rubbish to the dump.  It’s such a liberating feeling, ridding oneself of one’s trash.  Don’t you agree?  I feel free.  That must be Martha Stewart’s secret to success—she doesn’t let her garbage hang around for weeks on end.  There’s not a speck of trash in sight at her place, I’m sure.  She’s probably never had to scream at earwigs to get out of her life and off her driveway, either.  Some people have all the luck.

After the earwigs and the dump, I chased a storm.  Not that it did any good—the chasing, I mean.  I tried to chase it out of town, but my efforts made no difference whatsoever.  It’s almost like I can’t control the elements or something. Curious.

Observe:

Of all of the photos I took, this last one is my favourite.  I like several things about it:  First, the drama of the dark clouds rolling in.  They seem totally unstoppable.  Initially, a person looking at this photo may feel like something bad—something dreadful and inevitable—is on its way.  But upon further perusal, one might notice the more friendly-looking, white, fluffy clouds way off in the distance; even though they’re far away, they’re still crystal clear.  It’s obvious that there is hope for something better, and soon.  Better times are not completely out of reach. Finally, the eye drifts up through the dark clouds in the foreground, and rests on a tiny patch of bright blue sky.  The little patch—that minuscule glimmer of goodness—stands as a reminder that, though the dark storm clouds appear foreboding, they’re actually quite thin.  Paltry, even.

It signifies, at least to me, that this, too, shall pass.

And just like that, I am out of my pit.

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