It's one of those days, where you are woken up 47 minutes before your alarm should start screaming at you because the 700 pound sea monster upstairs has decided to have a shouting match with her... whomever is up there.  They've decided their fine china isn't that fine, and that 5:13am is an acceptable time to play dodge ball with glass objects. You think about pounding on the ceiling, or taking a baseball bat to her front door, but come on- you're too much of a chicken for that. Maybe once you've had your Xanax.

It's one of those days, where you wake up feeling the same way you went to bed (the way you'd feel before the medicines fixed you and made you a functioning member of society) - slightly down, lonely, and completely indifferent to everything and everyone.  You'd hoped all you needed was one good nights sleep, but in the back of your head you know those storm clouds in the distance are only coming closer, moving fast, and getting an uncomfortably dark shade of gray and black, as they come your way. Those days you say 'fuck optimism', because all your 'everything will work out' mumbo jumbo isn't cutting it anymore.

It's one of those days, where you just cry.  No passion or emotion in your tears. No rime or reason behind the water works- just tears streaming down your face.  Where your boyfriend awkwardly gets out of bed to leave for work, but he'll only kiss you're forehead because his lips are chapped and he doesn't know how to act with you anymore. You bicker about something dumb, maybe leaving the cap off the toothpaste again, and when he slams the door the walls feel like they are about to crumble around you. The day you're kind of glad hes finally gone to work and you can just be alone.

It's one of those afternoons, where you go to 7-11 and just stare at the cases of cigarettes.  And you have a pity party for a bit.  You think about how you haven't had sex in 9 days, how you hate your job, your shitty apartment and how the doctors stole your way of life in order to 'save it'. It's the kind of day all you really want is a few deep drags off of a cig, a strong shot of something dark and dangerous, and a really good fuck. Instead, you walk out to your car with a hand full of suckers and a mountain dew under your arm, only to see some asshole back straight into your 1996 POS and drive away. Those afternoons you wish you had car insurance so you could report that fucker, even if the damage was minimal, for not even facing up to their mistakes.

Its one of those nights, where you drive your beat down jeep, with newly collected dent, to your shitty job, only to find out you wrote down your schedule wrong and you are an hour early. But they are busy so you have to sign in. You sell over-priced liquor you cant drink, to kids that don't need to be drinking more. But you cannot say anything, because they have their mommies plastic card, and anyone that has money is a customer of ours (No matter what their blood alcohol level or the fact they broke a 6pack of glass you now have to mop and sweep).

Its one of those nights, where you sit in your frozen car at 2am and wait for all your co-workers to whip out of the empty parking lot.  You wait til you are finally alone, with just the few flickering light post to expose you, and light up a joint (your new ritual to replace cigarettes).The silence is comforting, but allows for too much time to think.  It's a night you feel kind of lost, and your head won't stop spinning, and you don't have a person in the world to talk to.  But even if you did, you're not one to share feelings, so you would probably shrug them off with an 'I'm doing well, you?'

One of those nights, you debate on answering the 'booty call' from your ex-lover because you haven't felt satisfied in any aspect of the word, in weeks.  And you know, no matter how much of a douche bag he is, he can get the job done very well. Those nights you will do anything just to feel a little normal, a little happy. You reach under your seat to that pack of cigarettes you bought, far before the hospital, the pack, containing two beautiful and yet disgusting sticks of pleasure, you hid from your boyfriend so he wouldn't cut them in half. 

Its one of those nights, where you stare at that pack as you toke your joint, watch it call you from the dash board. The night you say 'fuck it' and toss the roach into a snowy bank as you you light up a seductive cigarette.  You blare Mindless Self Indulgence through your speakers and sit in the shame of breaking your 13-day streak, but it feels so worth it.  One of those nights you open your phone and text 'U still up?' to the boy you shouldn't talk to and wait for a reply. 

Its one of those nights you see you phone light up, put your car in D, and do a couple fish-tails before exiting the lot. One of those nights that just fizzles out like a bad sit-com series, because the writers don't know how to end it.