I feel a darkness descending upon me… is an overly-dramatic way of saying I’m having a bad day; or week; or month, rather.
I wrote about me taking a break from the blog because looking for a new house and getting ready for a friend’s wedding would take it out of me, but my life has stabilised a bit since and still I feel tired.
I’m terrified these are signs that I’m going to fall into depression again. I’ve been using the little emotional energy I have left to go outside, do exercise, do stuff that I enjoy, in an increasingly panicked bid to avoid waking up one morning unable to even crack an egg.
I don’t want to talk too much about that right now, though. I might write about it later in the week, but for today I’d like to focus on something more positive.
I’ve been biking to work every morning, since I live so close now. It’s only 20 or 30 minutes total to get there and back, and they tend to be the best 20 or 30 minutes of my day.
On Friday though, I left my bike there since I was meeting with a friend after work. It was a great time, but I woke up Saturday morning a little sad. Despite the fact I keep my bike in the underground car park and not in my room, it felt awful knowing my bike wasn’t near me.
So I walked to work around 7am on a Saturday morning just to pick up my bicycle. I got it, and… sigh. Just felt right, y’know?
I made the front wheel jump to get on the pavement, and as I started to speed up, weaving in between the crowd of people walking, I had one of the few moments of intense happiness I’ve had lately.
It wasn’t just that I was exercising, or that I missed my bike. It was realising how well I knew it. I was balancing it on its side, almost, knowing exactly when to pedal, how to hit the brakes… it reminded me of the incredibly cheesy descriptions in fantasy books of a young hero using a sword and feeling like it was an extension of their body.
It might be terrible writing, but I can’t think of a better way to describe the sensation. It was the first time I actually saw how instinctive riding my bicycle had become.
I have a similar feeling with my musical instruments.
I’ve had my guitar for… wow, maybe 7-8 years now? I don’t play it as often as I should, but every time I do, I know how much it will weigh, what the strings will feel like, and how my hand will fit against the neck of the guitar.
To be fair, that has changed a little recently. I went to pick up my guitar last month, and nearly dropped it after I (rather painfully) hit my boob against the body of the guitar. I’ve started to adjust to that fairly well though 😛
What really gives me that feeling, though, is my ukulele.
I’ve only had it for about 3 years, but I’ve become really attached to it in that time. It’s usually the first place I go when I feel alone and need comfort, or when I’m very happy and want a way to express it.
It’s not much to look at, either. It’s fairly cheap (though it sounds nice) and it has a crack near the soundhole from where I accidentally broke it on a holiday trip some years back. Just like my guitar is a faded red that looks pink, with a seat that looks worn, the leather starting to peel off one of the corners.
Still. I love them both, exactly as they are. I know how the strings on my uke feel, how it feels in my arms (or hands, rather!) and how each note will sound.
My rational mind knows these are just objects, but I’m prone to more conceptual thinking, and am very guilty of anthropomorphising possibly a little more than is normal.
They might be ‘things’, but I still feel a ton of affection for them. They’re familiar, and are attached to moments and old emotions, and so I love them.