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The sun's  warmth is helping my mood considerably.
I had been holed up all day in a dark place, watching sad  TV shows, feeling down...
Now I am outside, and it is warm out here. The sun is loving my shoulders, and my face.
Things are looking up.  I am starting to feel  alive again.
The house is a tomb; the black-out curtains have turned it into a cave.
Two seconds in the sun is helping me to remember how lucky I am to be alive.
Fourteen "Unsolved Mysteries" with Dennis Farina had gripped me in a mood of hopelessness and despair.
I had held  myself hostage all day
By  a TV show...
I have a morbid curiosity and fascination for the dark places, I have no words to explain it.
It meets me on a primal level. It meets something in my soul that nothing else does.
When I am attached to this sludge I cannot seem to break away.
I don't even try.
I can hear a loud bird.   Not a hoot or a coo, but something in between.
The birds must be feeling the love of the sun too. They are lucky they don't watch TV.
I feel like living now, not singing, but at least retaining a bit of the rest of the day.
Why are all the blinds in the house drawn? Why does the house feel despondent, sad, hermetic?
Why do chores seem  like giant hopeless tasks on a winter day?
The sun is weaving her magic into me.
The being who could not bathe or walk upright for the past two days is soaking up the rays like a giant happy cat.  The TV people can't get me out here.
I chose life.

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