Happy Solstice.

I went down to the shore of the East River today, a little park in Williamsburg I'm quite fond of. It was well into evening, and almost full dark when I left around four-thirty. There wasn't much sunset to be had, but there was Manhattan starting to light up, and little dark-on-dark shapes of seagulls landing and floating on the water, other people in little groups enjoying the end of the day at this rare open spot. I listened to the water, and looked at the rippling clouds, and gathered my feelings to get myself back to Manhattan.

It wasn't that great a day - yeah, I'd gotten all of my grocery shopping done, and I did love the little park. But I'd had a lot to drink last night, and started the day later than I wanted, and spent most of the afternoon, even in the park, in a tired, quiet funk. When I got back to my apartment, I couldn't focus on much of anything, wasn't too hungry, and was more weary than fully tired. Some of it's my period being due for next week with depression as a heralding symptom, some of it's the conversation I had with my dad last night, some of it was just me not feeling all that great for no particular reason. Earlier, I'd thought how I shouldn't go out at all, how it'd be better just to stay in and do nothing, and when I turned on the computer and couldn't focus I thought I shouldn't bother talking to anyone tonight.

And then it hit me like a freight train: I used to feel like this ALL THE TIME.

If not all the time, then enough to make it something normal, a typical state I can easily recognize that comes with an increasingly diminishing frequency.

Once I realized that, I still felt pretty down. And I felt better about it, just the same.