Those terrible days

My terrible days are Tuesdays and Thursdays.

I gauge the terribleness by the length, work that is due, and people I will be around.

Not only was today bound to be terrible, but the lack of sleep had to have accounted for the great expectation that it would be, in fact, a very terrible day.

These days are so terrible, in fact, that I dread waking up to them, thus, ensuing that I will wake up extra early just so I my mind can anticipate their terribleness. As much as I love going to bed at 1am and body clock waking myself up at 5am, and my class doesn't begin until 8:30am, my day doesn't end just there: I have work and two more classes to get through until 5pm, when at that time, I will be the first in line for dinner in the Caf.

What do I do to get through these terrible days? I dress up. I try to present myself with a look of care, and my own self-study has proven that my mood picks up, and I tell myself, "if all else fails, at least I didn't let myself go." But by then, it is the end of the day, and I'm looking rough, real rough, but the concept of confidence remains.

I will always be assured that these days will be terrible. I will always be assured that if I expect these days to be absolutely terrible, then they will most likely turn out okay, and I will be pleasantly surprised. 

I can always count on it being a little cooler in the mornings; I can always count on the sun setting in the evenings, and I can always count of a promise of tomorrow. Will I then live today for tomorrow, and tomorrow, I will live for today?

The birds will always chirp, even though not necessarily the same birds.

Terrible days aren't too terrible. Every little sweet thing will come as a pleasant surprise, and every little terrible thing will not change a thing because everything is already terrible.

Terrible will not make terrible more terrible. And simplicity will make terrible more terrific.

And without you, today's emotions would be the scurf's of yesterdays.