A thing that I hate to do.
And a regular day that I do it on.
And I do it anyway, and I do it happily, but when the Day is coming, I hate it… I dread it. I despise every minute of it.
When it’s over, I’m relieved, but also, a little bit, starting to dread, because next week is coming, and the Day comes every week, and the Thing never ends.
Am I being vague enough? Good!
But I wonder if this is one reason I am feeling so grey and glum and depressed every single minute of every single day, because the Thing is casting is Thingly pall...
Or whether that’s just due to lack of sleep, as usual. Tonight, I’m trying to get some sleep, just in case that’s all it is.