Christopher Muggridge

I struggled to wake up to my six am alarm so I told myself I had accomplished so much yesterday I could go back to sleep until seven. I knew that wasn't true and started to refute it, but then I said "Shhh, shhh. It's OK." and passed out. I can be so gullible and manipulative at the same time. I'm a very complex person. A very tired and complex person.

A simple ditty: Buddy Holly "Everyday".

I think a great way to feed my fragile ego would be to acquire an Amazon Echo and occasionally yell out things like "Alexa, make us some toast." Then I'd stand at the counter all smug-like and smile as I buttered each slice, picturing her sulking away in the Cloud like an over-hyped brick of simulated intelligence, keenly aware of her physical limitations. The fact she couldn't partake of the freshly prepared, warm, toasty goodness would only serve to further my deftly orchestrated sense of false superiority and as a bonus, cater to my guilty pleasure of not having to share.

I can't afford to purchase an Echo at the moment and my toaster is broken so I'm having cereal for breakfast, but I know inside I'll be laughing to myself all day and muttering things like "Oh yah".

It's probably best I'm broke because I'm sure Alexa would only end up ruining things by reminding me how I need to get out more.

A song for the artificially bold: Gino Vanelli "Black Cars".

I love a well written verse. Something smart. Something that conveys a concept or emotion without sacrificing depth through the blunt use of straightforward, obvious language.

Rather, it slips into your consciousness like a whisper and settles in deep - a truth you've always carried but never recognized was there until someone shone a light on it. One of my favourite examples is from a song called Murder In The City by The Avett Brothers...

"Make sure my sister knows I loved her
Make sure my mother knows the same
Always remember there was nothing worth sharing
Like the love that let us share our name"

This afternoon I added a new one to my collection. This one is from Fortunate Ones and their song, Steady As She Goes...

"Take what you can, she said
Let the rest go up in flames
We'll be all right I bet
It's the faces in the frames that kept the house up anyways"

Just beautiful.

And what makes it all even better? They're from Newfoundland.

I'm feeling a little shitty this afternoon so I drove to the Dollar Store and picked myself up a new coffee mug. I still feel shitty, but I've gained another mug I don't need and I've spent three dollars that could have been put to better use - such as the gas it took to make the unnecessary trip in the first place. It's apparent that my personal attitude adjustment capabilities are questionable at best. It's a nice colour of blue, but it won't sit flat and tends to wobble. Next time I may just opt to take a nap instead. In the meantime, I'm drinking wobbly coffee and doing my best to enjoy it.

My friend Cheryl bought me a round, palm-sized object she referred to as a "bath bomb" and recommended I give it a try. After filling the tub with water, I tossed in the bomb, but instead of the bathroom filling with smoke and me stealthily disappearing during the confusion, I was left with nothing but coloured foam and a floor in desperate need of mopping. Women may smell nice, but they know nothing of the deadly arts of the ninja.

I don't know if anyone else will understand this, but it's the atrocious realities of the world - the pain and suffering that human beings inflict on one another, on the vulnerable, the abused, and the victimized - it's these things which make me question, more than anything else, whether I want to be here. Whether here is worth being.

That such atrocities are even conceivable, never mind actionable, carry such sadness and hopelessness for the future that my own insecurities and challenges are dwarfed by the fact that even if I manage to save myself, who is going to save me and the ones I love from the rest of what lies out there? I wonder some days whether life is worth living if even a part of it contains the capacity to allow such torment to exist. I feel strong enough today to weather it, but it's those other days, the ones where I can barely stand within my own skin, that this knowledge adds enough weight to steal my breath and bury me.

This morning while in the shower, I determined I would take control of the day and make every minute count. Of course, in most characteristic fashion, I immediately regretted my bold and aggressive declaration of ambition. Who am I, I challenged myself as someone who could barely make themselves get out of bed in the morning, to force my will upon something so small and innocuous as a minute? Who or what would I target next? A second? A millisecond? Once upon the slippery slope of blind ambition, where would my efforts end? Would I ever be satisfied with the time made available to me or would I eventually drive myself to insanity in my quest to bend the entirety of the universe to my bidding?

As a staunch believer in free will and self responsibility, how could I justify enforcing my own wants and needs, however well intentioned, onto something that had no choice but to march steadily from one beat to the next, eternally passing the figurative baton of historic tapestry from one indistinguishable instance of itself to the next? And what if it can't even count? This construct of a metaphysical concept conceived by man for the arguably express purpose of torturing ourselves through the antagonistic inference of stolen personal entitlement caused by traffic congestion and endless Starbuck lineups. Had we not already asked so much of so little? Could I now demand that it also cater to my individual, selfish whims. Logic would dictate that as each minute is a singular entity, born and extinguished almost simultaneously, its grasp of numerical concepts would be limited to a single digit. One. No more, no less. To expect its knowledge to reach beyond its grasp seems as fair as passing judgement on a stone because it lacks the ability to soar through the air like an eagle.

So I have decided instead to commit to a different tact today, and take each minute as it comes. Accepting it for what it is and not what I will it to be. It is not lost on me that I will still be exerting a form of control by taking without asking, but this time I will do my best to offset such hubris by offering something in return. Today I will do my best to give a shit.

A little creative give and take shall a Thursday make and before I know it, Friday will swing its way back around. I feel much less like a bully when dealing with days, especially when I know when it comes to being difficult, they generally started it first.

A song 3 minutes and 23 seconds long: Simply Red "If You Don't Know Me By Now".

Reset the alarm four times and still haven't made it out of my pajamas yet. So far, Hump Day is not looking nearly as invigorating as it sounds. Bills need to be paid, so it's all "off to work I go" as I shuffle the ten feet or so through my tiny apartment over to my desk. I have a headache but at least I work from home and don't need to venture out into what has apparently mutated from an early morning thunderstorm into a disheartening display of snow. My red Converse weep for the eventual return of warmer weather and early morning walks. Let the imbibing of copious amounts of caffeine begin.

A song of singitude: Paul Young "Every Time You Go".

Gotta be honest, today feels like it's going to be an uphill battle. It would be nice to get some good news, even something small, to help bolster the spirits. I'm telling myself it's early yet and to spend my time looking up instead of looking out, but I wish I felt more positive. Still, I've been wrong about so many things, so many times before, so maybe this will be another one of those situations and things work out in my favour.

Tuesday, be a good news day and not an "I lose day".

Whatever my outcome, I hope the rest of you enjoy your time to the fullest. Be awesome (like I know you are), and keep things simple - things like not being a dick.

A song to get started: Otis Redding "(Sittin' On) The Dock of the Bay".

Here it is, World Bipolar Day, and my "Get Up and Go" hasn't shown up yet.

There's the distinct possibility it "Got Up and Realized It Had Something Better To Do".

Can't say as I blame it. It is the nature of the day, after all.