Misty Day Chronicles


I woke up to the sun shining and my head still hurting for the fourth day in a row. Rather than getting out of bed to workout when my alarm went at 6:40, I stayed in bed to rest.

The last few days had been physically challenging and it, unfortunately, had nothing to do with workouts. Between a migraine on Sunday that cascaded into Monday, Tuesday, and today and an out of control period, I felt like I was ready for a three week vacation from my life. Or my body.

By the time we sat down to eat breakfast, the sky had clouded over and it had started to rain. Maybe the word “mist” would more accurately describe the outdoor conditions. As I walked the dogs half an hour later, the mist gradually lifted and we walked just beneath the heavy clouds as they moved quickly towards the north.

Gusts of wind brought yellow leaves swirling down around me like giant snowflakes.

The dogs could feel the change in the weather. They were more eager than usual to jump at the huge squirrels that crossed the quiet road and the noisy rustling of the bushes.

Walking on Rover Road always inspires me to write. The song “Demons” by Imagine Dragons came on. I will never forget training for my three minute plank when I was preparing for my RKC. “Demons” is about three seconds shy of three minutes. I listened to it every time I planked.

The words in the song hit me:

“When you feel my heat look into my eyes,

“It’s where my demons hide, it’s where my demons hide.

“Don’t get too close, it’s dark inside,

“It’s where my demons hide, it’s where my demons hide.” (Imagine Dragons)

I too have demons hidden inside of me. Not literal, satanic demons. But my ugly thoughts. The dark crap that I don’t want to face. The stuff that I try to avoid.

I sat on a cold, cement bench on the bridge that stretched over the dirty, dark river and wrote down my thoughts.

Once I was back home, it was time to set aside my thoughts and put on my Mom hat.

It’s hard to be a good parent when you’re dealing with your demons.

I washed the dishes from breakfast and last night’s post-supper snacks and started a batch of pizza buns. The mom stuff I do is the most unexciting part of my day. But I remind myself it’s the most important.

I sat down with my SAD lamp at my side, looked out the back window at the low, grey clouds, facing my laptop. The words did not come. I procrastinated by going on Facebook and checking my email. Nothing of importance. The world had survived without me for quite a while.

I pulled the first tray of pizza buns out of the oven at 11:45, put my pink plantar fasciitis-friendly shoes on my feet, leashed my restless dogs, and set out for school in the grey mist. Walking down the back lane was drier than travelling through the lush, green field so that’s the way we went. My dogs keeping me safe like two small bodyguards, me with my face down to avoid getting my glasses wet.

They trickled out of school. The oldest first, the baby next, and the girl last. That’s how they always come out the doors. We walked home together, this time chancing the field and finding it not too bad.

The kids were very happy to find a fresh baked lunch for them and they devoured the pizza buns. They ate eleven buns between the three of them. Then they found one or two fruit sources and devoured them.

My grocery bill grows every single week.

Superstore loves me.

We walked back to school down the back lane, observed the neighbour boy engaged in a drug deal — or so we imagined — and made it to school with time to play. I think the wind took about half of the leaves off of the trees today, forming a yellow carpet on the ground.

Back at home, I forced myself to sit down and work on my novel. Inspiration hit. I nearly doubled my word count. I made it to nearly 9000 words by the time I had to call it quits.

The characters live in my head and at times I wonder where reality and fiction overlap.

If I didn’t have an alarm set on my phone to remind me to get my kids after school, I wonder if Ava would have done it for me. She’s my protagonist.

I ended up driving to get them. It was raining again by that time and I really hate having wet, spotted glasses. Ava would have to wait for me to tell her story.

Swimming lessons, supper, and a personal training client.

Back at home, dry again, warm, with a vanilla scented candle burning beside me. The kids are supposed to be in bed and I can’t wait to do and say nothing.

Putting the Mom hat on the shelf for — hopefully — a solid nine hours.

My candle just went out. Good night.


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