Work in progress

Work in progress

It was while Tisjaira was cutting the mushrooms that the song came on. The lyrics and the melody combined to form a blanket of sadness that covered her suddenly and completely. Tears streamed down her face. She sobbed so much she had to put down the knife.

But a part of her stood aside and watched. Wondering 'why am I crying? I've heard this song a thousand times before. Why cry about it now?'.

Still she couldn't stop. She cried until it ended. When the next song played she felt she could listen to it without breaking. Her watchful self relaxed a little. It was an all-round relief. 

But the mournful mood remained. There were more songs that made her cry. Het watchful self thought it was all very strange. She wondered what it could be? The day had not been bad to start with, she was sure of that. In fact, it had been sunny this morning. Work had gone well and even the trains ran on time. It was only when she had to change platforms at the crowded station that she got agitated. 

People who sauntered about blocking the way with their lack of hurry made it almost impossible to catch the connecting train. She had clenched her jaws so as not to shout at them. Briskly she had pushed passed at the very first opportunity. Running to the right platform. Weaving in and out of the crowd. She thundered down the stairs into an overcrowded train. 

She stood on the stuffy balcony feeling sticky, smelling not her own but everybody else's sweat. The tall and lanky boy next to her hadn't washed his hair. Its mustiness mixed with the scent drifting off his apparent friend and put her in a sour mood.

When the doors finally opened fresh air came rushing in as the people pushed their way out. Getting away from the throng she had breathed deeply. She had been fine then. So why the sudden crying and the lingering melancholy moodiness? It was hard to explain. She cried herself to sleep that night all the time wondering why?

When the alarm woke her up the next morning there was something heavy weighing her down. She felt useless. Again she wondered why. She had work to do. Important work that people were waiting for. She knew she could do her job and do it well. Yet somehow she couldn't stop agonizing over small details that could probably be handled so much better if she could get up and do something.

But getting up was hard when the mountain of heaviness kept pushing her down and it all seemed so pointless. Who cared anyway? Her watchful self was screaming by now. 'That's not true! You know that's not true! Get up, Get Up, GET UP!'

A deep sigh escaped her lips while she pushed herself into a sitting position. That was step one. As Tisjaira sat there the thought of getting out suddenly seemed terrifying. It was too much, everything would be too much. Trembling she reached out and grabbed the diary on her night stand.

There was a pen next to it. Carefully noting the date and time she wrote down a plea: 'Dear God, please help me. I can't today. I just, I can't'. It was all she could do for a moment. She hesitated, taking action had somehow hurt. The pain was almost physical. But her watchful self urged her on. So she wrote down all the worrisome pebbles that had formed the unmovable mountain.

As she put them down one by one her watchful self looked on making sure that none was forgotten or left behind. It was all nothing really, just as the watchful self had expected. Yet all the nothing had clotted together to form a deep dark cloud in her mind. There was no way around it when that happened.

Allowing it to rain down on paper was all she could do to make the cloud go away or at the very least, clear up a little. The nothings came out in a steady downpour for five pages long. Then it slowed to a trickle until finally it stopped.

Having cleared up the cloud she could move again. A good thing too because now she had to hurry. The warm shower made her cry but only a little. While getting dressed with the radio on she had to stop and take a deep breath but the heaviness passed.

Luckily her bag was mostly ready. She grabbed it by the handles on her way to the door. She snatched the bicycle keys, house keys and set off to the shed. She was cycling fast when she finally came to. There was a shift and a click inside her head.

A crisp wind blew in her face. The stars overhead promised to turn into a clear morning. She could smell the scent of burning wood coiling up from some of the older houses that still had a fireplace. Tisjaira parked her bike and rushed to her first train. So far, so good. When they arrived at the crowded station, she had just enough time to get some breakfast before catching the connecting train.

At this hour getting a seat was easy. Tisjaira settled down to eat. Her croissant  was still warm and its faint buttery smell mixed with the saltiness of the cheese inside. When she chased it down with the bittersweet caramel cappucino there was a moment where she felt content. That was when she knew. Today she was going to be okay.