I love big, complicated words. Quotidian is one I particularly like.
quo·tid·i·an (kwōˈtidēən), adjective. Ordinary or everyday, especially when mundane. “His story is an achingly human one, mired in quotidian details.”
And it fits; today is quotidian.
Wake up in pain.
Take morning pills.
Take pain pills.
Take the dog for a walk.
Eat breakfast. More pain.
Fall into an exhausted sleep.
Wake up. More pain.
Eat breakfast’s cereal for lunch. More pain.
Wait for 5 p.m. to feed the dog, wait for more pain.
Know there will be more pills.
Wait for bedtime; wait for sleep disturbed by pain.
Take night pills.
Wait for morning.
Wait for more pain.
Wait for more pills.
Today I have no sun to shine on this. My frightening ability to always find the silver lining, to always imagine a happy outcome, to always see the best in people and situations has abandoned me.
The mundanity of my quotidian life is wearing on me. I need to find something to look forward to. I need to find some color and joy to bring back into my life.
It’s just so hard to go looking for those things when I’m mired in the pain/pills cycle.
But while I’m trapped here, I’m still