Damp Spirits

My Granny has a rather handy word to describe how I’m feeling right now: pianissimo. As someone who used to bash out a few chords on the piano and toot the clarinet a former child musical prodigy, I’m familiar with the word, which is the musical term for very very quiet.

But the way Granny says pianissimo doesn’t mean quiet, voume-wise. It means subdued, flat… to extend the musical analogy, it’s a little like using the piano’s damper pedal. Poor Granny has every reason to feel this way at the moment, having just lost my lovely Grandpa in July. This loss, and the other loss which brings a difficult anniversary in July, and other personal matters, have combined to make this summer somewhat on the sighing side Chez Bokker.

The last few days have pushed me a little further towards the edge (I mean like the edge of glumpiness, not the edge of anything dramatic!). The fast turnaroud film I made this week, in addition to feeling a little bit ill, in addition to G being properly ill (he’s hacking away in the kitchen as I type, but I still didn’t relieve him of washing-up duties, mwa-ha-haaa) , in addition to having an enjoyable bank holiday weekend in which I nevertheless didn’t achieve anything, in addition to the tried n tested lady’s excuse- hormones- have all left me feeling decidedly pianissimo and somewhat liable to weep suddenly.

I’ve know depression; some of my student days were spent plodding around campus with self-indulgent tears rolling down my cheeks in time to Otis Redding on repeat on my discman. Good times. And I’ve known deep grief and trauma.

This is neither of those things, thankfully. This what the yankee-doodles among you might call “a funk”. This is like looking at the world from a fish tank, darkly (and temporarily).  No biggie.

Just a pain in the bum.

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