and put away your sleepy logic

Are Sundays the gloomiest of days? Everything seems descended, and down, and sunken away. Sunday mornings, in particular, always have that pall, that end-of-story feeling. Grim and talking to yourself to get up first thing, in the darkness and rain, to walk somewhere and climb some stairs and go around turning on lights. As if that could change anything. But this is the time you have, and at least with the quiet you can hear yourself talk about everything you have to do.

Melancholia is one of the Four Temperaments, apparently. But I think the Greeks were overreaching here, and some days just press themselves, insisting on quiet and a kind of grave incubation, where there's really nothing wrong, not really.


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