by Mya Ran

Created on: January 24, 2008   Last Updated: October 31, 2008

Mixed Messages

I woke up Monday with a talking head reminding me: "Today is rated the most depressing day of the year", one of those zillion multi media messages we reflect daily, but for reasons unknown, this one stuck like lint on Velcro. As I wandered out into the abyss of churning, snaking concrete transporting me to my daily bread and butter, it appeared again, only this time I challenged the thought. "Really now, this beautiful, sunny-blue, crisp January Day with not one hint of snow or gray grunge in sight? This, this, is the most depressing day?' "I beg your pardon, if it truly is January in Indiana, please do not attempt to awaken me from my slumber". I recall many past hollow January's when the wind in the trees echoed like empty calls from long lost souls. Not today buster! Today is a lucky day, well perhaps a global warming day, but this one day is enough to get me through the roughest February brings. I am thinking, I will hold on to this day, this most depressing day, and ride it all the way to March. All day long, the thought just stayed with me. For some reason, I just couldn't get over it. Depressing? Really? Wow! As my day moved forward, I found myself looking curiously close at others to see if I could detect any telltale depression hovering 'round their auras, but nothing much different seemed apparent. I somehow managed to move on to other challenges.

What was depressing was facing the suburban lioness lying in wait at the office. The smiling felines crawling all over each other for more than their fair share of the kill. Always something unsatisfactory, or mandatory, or so diabolical it has to be whispered behind the doors of spaces with windows. I often thought all that light ought to have some redeeming effect on its recipients, but in most cases, it seems only to encourage locking fatted tails behind doors with the perky message boards attached, keeping all that light unto themselves. I suppose though, they can't help themselves, seems most of them were bred into greed. It's a greed so ingrained, they really cannot help but feel entitled to more. Most of them seem to feel above the grade, quite special, as though in a beautiful bubble of quaff and success. They cannot help it if they are the creme De la creme, it's organic, it separates naturally. My beautiful day was beginning to darken in the shade of battleship gray walls, dimming continually until I was expelled from my windowless box into the darkness and further onto concrete paths

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