According to Wikipedia, the term Dog Day has two points of reference. The first is meteorological, referring to the hottest, most sultry days of summer, which ancient peoples believed happened whenever the earth found itself closest to the star known as Sirius, or The Dogstar. The second is metaphorical, in reference to days defined by being “very hot or stagnant, or marked by a dull lack of progress”. Considering summer – particularly an extremely hot one – is my least favourite of all seasons, coupled with the fact that progress today has been about as easy to come by as carbs in Jennifer Aniston’s pantry, few expressions seem to fit more to this particular moment in my time better than this one.
I’m sitting here, with the flu, without the ability to taste anything and I could swear someone used the time I was sleeping last night to fill my head with cement. Which I don’t think has quite dried yet. Everything is heavy, sloshy, sore and tired. An absolute bugger of a day, really. And somehow, tomorrow I have to sing. At a wedding. In front of people.
Any number of people will tell you when you have days like this, that the best thing you can do is to get over yourself and think of how many other people in the world have it infinitely worse than you. To be fair, they have a point, to a point. It’s good to realise that it could always be worse, but for the record, after 28, years as a petit mal epileptic (where you have absences rather than full body seizures), therefore being ‘that weird girl always getting called to the counsellor’s office’ and subsequently being oft reminded by strangers and random doctors that I could always have terminal cancer or have been born missing a limb, I have learned for myself that just because your problems aren’t other people’s problems, doesn’t mean yours aren’t valid.
No. I’m not homeless or dying or stuck in the middle of a civil war. But bugger it, my nose is runny, I haven’t slept, my eyes are watering so my make-up’s gone bye-bye, I can’t eat, my voice sounds like a chainsaw and I look like I’ve been dragged backwards through a hedge. What then, I ask myself, does one do with all this exactly?
Well, thankfully, this particular one has an awesome best friend. Who, even more thankfully, is always filled with brilliant ideas.
After a rough year herself, she came up with a sterling concept, known simply as The Book of Happy. Basically it’s a book, created by her in loving detail, that is full of reminders; a touchstone for the things that give her joy and a glow in her heart every time she thinks about them, regardless of the situation she’s in or the day she’s had.
This, I realised this morning, was exactly what I needed. A book of happy, or in this case, a blog of it. A pair of ruby slippers that I could mentally click wherever I was and go to a place where I felt sane, relaxed, happy, and good about being there.
So, after a couple months of dilly-dallying, here I am: taking my first steps in creating my Blog Of Happy. My aim will be to do one of these a week. Ten things a pop. So if I go without for a bit, please feel free to bombard me via here or via my twitter to get my ass into gear and pluck out a new batch of of life’s beautifuls – be they big or small. That’s one detail about it I plan on sticking to. Even if it’s the tiniest thing, if it brings me some kind of good to see it, or be reminded of something good by it, then it’s going in the mix. They say make sure you stop and smell the roses in life. Well this is me. Stopping, smelling, and bloody well bent on appreciating everything that gives me a reason to be happy AND thankful.
I’ve created a seperate section on my website purely dedicated to this (you can find in the tab section up top), so keep your eyes peeled for updates there is you feel like taking a peek at the ever growing list of things that I want the world to know make my life beautiful.
And for the record, you – whoever you are, wherever you are – for being here, I am really thankful for you too. :)