My days are so predictable and yet, every day, I seem to relive them as if i beleive something new is about to happen. I expect change, I anticipate some new discovery to transform the mundane agenda I should, by now, be accustomed to. I keep expecting the day to end differently..

I wake up in the morning with a fresh head and a hopeful heart. Regardless of how exhausted I am from the lack of sleep, I always feel that the day’s renewal affords me a panoply of fresh opportunities to look forward to. Once I'm showered and dressed, had my coffee and am ready to go, I feel ready to take on whatever challenges come my way - with a clear mind and strong determination.

But, as the day progresses, the challenges that come my way slowly start to take on the added weight of yesterday’s failures ... and tomorrow’s fears. The worrying and the anxiety begin to creep up on me, slowing me down, and gradually weighing me down.

I make lists, I plan ahead, I visualize and pray for the future - still somewhat hopeful that I have the ability and energy to make the changes necessary - to bring about success and not more disillusionment. I work hard, I believe and I pray, but regardless of how much I accomplish, it seems that as the day advances, the accomplishments get dwarfed by what has yet to be done.

By the time evening comes, all I want is to do crawl into a warm and safe place. I want to put it all behind me, and live in the moment. As the night comes and silence descends around me, solitude and stillness replace the commotion and cacophony of the day. What I crave at night is a place to let go of the day’s tension and pressures and inadequacies, but instead, as the eeriness of the night intensifies, so do the anxieties of tomorrow, and tomorrow’s tomorrows.
I find myself wallowing in the disappointments and broken dreams, all alone, feeling more isolated and hopeless than I could have imagined possible early that morning.

My empty bed frightens me - all that cold unused space, mocking me - so I avoid it. I read, I think, I listen to music, I think, I write, I think. I try to distract myself and hope to avoid the swelling sadness and angst that threatens to engulf me.

I think
and think
and feel
and think

But this is a world of doing, what's the point?

The more I think the more I wish I could fall asleep.
The more I wish I were sleeping, the wider-awake I feel.

I watch the clock bring in the new day, as my eyes get heavy, and my brain continues to fry under the mounting pressures of the days to come.

Finally a moment of weakness overcomes me and I feel tired enough to collapse into bed.
I jump at the occasion.
I fall asleep.

Not more than 5 hours later, the radio blares, waking me up to a bright new morning, filled with hope and adventure.

I wont forget tomorrow morning, what tonight felt like. I’ll know what it felt like and why I felt it, but I wont feel it.
Maybe it was a bad day, i'll tell myself..but today.. TODAY, now that’s going to be a pretty good day!