Some days are a rollercoaster ride. A huge range of experiences crammed into 24 hours, never stopping, not a moment wasted. A day to remember. Up early to make the most of the post-dawn hours, then staying up late to make the most of the pre-dawn hours. Productively reflective, uncharacteristically sociable. Ever busy, here, there, everywhere. Zipping around town, lapping up the sunshine, striding across the moonlit Thames. Discovering somewhere you should have gone many years ago but never quite got round to visiting before. Unexpected bad news before breakfast, recovery underway, much to ponder. Going out, going out, and going out again. Meeting old acquaintances and making new. Not spending the entirety of a party in the kitchen. Nipping across the transport network like a pro, making connections like clockwork, nabbing an hour-long seat on a jam-packed nightbus. Finding a well-stocked queueless supermarket, throwing together something more than edible, then exercising lunch away. Making the most of opportunities, grasping with both hands, smiling a lot. Taking photos before the rest of the world wakes up. Remembering how to do something you thought you'd forgotten, and getting back into the groove. Getting a bit of sun-soaked colour back into your cheeks. Staring at the London skyline with a lager in hand, discovering something in common, knowing when to leave. Wondering about the situation elsewhere, hoping things are getting better fast. Edging your way into new circumstances without a hand to hold or shoulder to lean on, and coming out the better for it. Everything coming together. Making other people happy. Some days are unmissable.
Some days are a dead loss. 24 hours of doing nothing much, getting nowhere, slowly. Acres of time padded out to bridge the gaping chasm between dawn and dusk. Minimal inspiration, maximum procrastination. Every moment wasted, a day to forget. Looking through imprisoning glass at fluffy clouds scudding across an azure sky. Wondering what it might be like out there in the real world, but not having any impetus to find out. Using tried and tested techniques to fill fifteen minutes, an hour, an afternoon. Things you really should be doing, things you cleared the decks to attempt, but things that just refuse to get done. Expectations high, expectations dashed. Staring at a churning laptop, hourglass spinning, waiting, a life on hiatus. Muted frustration. Not turning on the TV because there's nothing on, anywhere, is there? Days when the highlight is emptying the washing machine, or towelling down a bubbly fork, or filling in three clues in the crossword. Days when nothing quite comes together. Slouching, snacking, and not helping matters by walking no further than the kitchen. Doubting. Waiting for input that never comes, and conversations that never happen. Pressing refresh, repeatedly, to confirm your suspicion that everyone else is having a more interesting time than you. Switching to the armchair for a change of scene. Watching time pass, irreversibly, imperceptibly. Reflecting on ignored alternatives, and wondering why you dismissed them. Apathy, withdrawal, inertia. Going to bed early because it makes the day shorter. Wondering whether yesterday was an illusion, and fearing that today is the norm. Making nobody happy. Some days are skippable.
Some weekends you get one of each, for balance. And on bank holidays you get another roll of the dice. I hope it's another Saturday, but I expect it's another Sunday.
