There's this dog.
I don't know if it's the same dog that Churchill kept away by painting, but it's certainly black and it's certainly persistent.
Sometimes it's nowhere to be found--never existed, or so it seems. And then other times it's there, dogging (yes) me as I fumble through a day that's a lot bleaker than the morning forecast had predicted.
Sometimes it's there from before I open my eyes:
Imagine a day where the colours have all faded, the sounds are distant and muffled, and time has ceased to drive events forward. Now imagine a great, dark weight pressing down on your chest, crushing any hopes and dreams you'd held for the day with a painful, overbearing, nameless sorrow. And now realise that you can't breath because the dark weight is pinning you down; realise you can't fight because the world, grey and void of hope or help or inspiration, saps any resistance you once thought you had; realise that whatever you had hoped to do, whatever you might have done, whatever you had planned is now dust and ashes--because you're paralysed, unable to get out of bed, and ain't nobody can help you. Ain't nobody.
I don't like it when things are like that. .-.
Reflecting on the whole business, I'm not actually certain how long the dog's been lurking on the periphery. Looking back I know it was around before I met Melissa (although I didn't know it at the time). I also know that it went into hiding for a time while we courted and wedded and the like. I'm not yet sure why it came back, although I do have some theories. I guess now that I know it's there I'll have to own it; otherwise, history tells me, these things have a habit of owning you instead.
We'll see how that goes.
There's this dog.
I don't know what its name is, but it seems to have taken to hanging around. I'd rather it went and bothered someone else, but as things stand I suspect it'll be around awhile. I'm kind of hoping it'll turn out to be the kind of dog that you can teach party tricks, but I suspect not. I wonder what I should call it--after all, a dog's got to have a name. Maybe I'll call it Winston; I'll enjoy the irony if nothing else.
Yes, Winston it is; it has a nice ring to it. And hey, I'm feeling better already. Isn't that nice...