“what happened?” he asked is voice flooding with concern.
“nothing happened.”
“then why are you down?”
“i dunno, i just am.”
“well, if nothing happened then you shouldn’t be down.”

and really that makes perfect sense. but black sundays don’t make perfect sense, they make no sense at all. but black sunday is here and there’s really nothing you can do but just suffer through it and cry yourself to sleep and take comfort in the fact that in the cool light of monday morning life will be back to normal.

i could have tried to explain about the black sundays, but my throat didn’t want to let the words out. the words and the tears fought and silence won out. i can’t explain the black sundays with my voice. i can write about them all night.

black sundays strike in the cold dark nights of winter. they hit you suddenly when you least expect. even if you’ve been perfectly content with your day and spent a majority of the evening curled up on the couch under the blanket you made with a cat on your lap watching the simpsons. black sundays don’t care about that.

black sundays creep in, always, when winter comes. when the cold enters your bones and makes its home in the pit of your stomach and with that cold comes the mean reds that always rear their ugly heads with black sundays. and suddenly you find yourself in bed and you are panicing because it’s so lonely and the bed seems too big for you and only reminds you of how much emptiness there still is in your life even though you ahve a job and friends and a family.

and the mean reds remind you that you don’t have to worry about how much a wedding will cost because you will never have to worry about it and really the honeymoon to venice is only a pipe dream. the mean reds mock your little girl fantasies and make you feel foolish for ever having dreamed them with your eyes open. because really, it’s hard for men to love a girl whose over six feet tall, you read that in a book when you were 14 and it still haunts you because you know, you know that it’s true.

the mean reds and the black sundays gang up on you when you are weak and defenseless when you are trying to relax and prepare yourself for the week ahead.

and really when the reds and the blacks come all you want is to hear nice things about you. how even though you don’t think you are built for love, that it might just maybe happen someday. or how dreams of weddings and venice aren’t so silly and that you really shouldn’t chastise the little girl in you who dreams or how you shouldn’t listen to the 14 year old who gets her notions about tall women from v.c. andrews novels.

but there is nobody to say nice things of their own accord and asking defeats the purpose. so you are left alone with the black sunday and the mean reds and the fear and the aching loneliness and just waiting for rationale to return on monday.