Sickly Sweet

Some days are just bad. You feel sick, unable to stand up or smile without an inward grimace or a squeak of pain. You are swamped with meaningless homework that drives you crazy and has a disproportionate effect on your life. You are scared of slowly but surely losing friends and sliding on ice as you drive a stupidly large suburban and what people think of you and your tights and your absurd short shorts.

But sometimes, those horrible days are infused with happiness. Your best friend burns you a bunch of CDs like the wonderful #Cardy she is. You receive many thanks from the people who matter (though you can't help feeling a bit bad for all the albeit happy tears they shed.) you lay motionless listening to 80s hip hop and watching Arrested Development with your family and then retreating to listen to the aforementioned CDs to the point that you almost forget that your nauseous cuz you're laughing and smiling and thinking of the good of the day. The bad starts to blend and mush into irrelevancy, and the good makes itself so manifest, printing its bright images of cups of milk and burgundy blazers and his smile on the back of your eyelids, like a talisman, protecting you from the evil spirits that wish to make you hurt.

These are the very best of the bad days, and I am ever so slightly grateful for their place in my life. I leave you to let Yellowcard and sweet dreams to serenade my sick self off to sleep.