Some days are just bad. It’s the kind of thing that happens to everyone. The worst of the some days are the days when the inside of your own head is poisonous. Like having your personal nemesis whispering your faults to you continuously.
The thing to remember, when that happens, is that it’s your head playing tricks on itself.
The voices are the shadows on the walls, thrown there grotesquely by some innocuous word or look or feeling that you might have encountered that day. They’re simply not real.
As exhausting as it is, that’s the one thing that needs to be remembered, on those days.
If you’re really lucky (and female) you get to blame it on hormones.
Today I came back home and watched several more episodes of Torchwood while eating leftovers and sprawling on the couch.
I think I’ve discovered why I like watching it: it’s the Welsh accents.