Sometimes You Just Do the Day.

January in the Midwest - darkness to darkness. Daylight hours are short. You wake up in darkness, there are brief periods of light, or periods of illuminated gloom, and then darkness descends before dinner time. It's hard not to reflect the weather. It's hard not to absorb the darkness. If you are a sensitive type, and who isn't, you can't help resembling the day. It must be like that the world over, right?

Why do we choose to live in a place like this? Probably born here, and then you just don't travel too far from the places of your ancestors, or you meet someone who has ties here too. And then there's random circumstance, you didn't get that one job on the coast, and you got one closer to home, and you made the decision, after the decision was made for you, that this is your home. There's a point where you think you belong here. Even though the sense of belonging is thinner than an invisible string.

So no good explanation. You are here.

And you reflect the days. And maybe they reflect you. What is outside is inside too. And the other way around too. Dark days. Sunny Days. Whatever. There is a darkness in you too. An illuminated gloom too. Waiting, expecting sunnier days. Longer days. Warmer days. But dealing with the day at hand. That's the trick. Sometimes you just do the day.