I blame the planets: the stars are misaligned and the only tiny comfort in being locked in the perpetual teatime of the soul is to know mine's not the only cup I'm filling up from the dribbling teapot of angst. There's a plate of existential crisis sandwiches, and a slab of marble anxiety cake waiting for anyone who fancies stopping by.
It will pass, these things always do. It's a mood, not a disaster. Nothing has happened, particularly, it's simply that my head has taken it upon itself to interpret a relatively benign set of circumstances as spectacularly negative. I'm Eeyoring my way through til Spring, when things will perk up, they always do.
There are things I do when I've gone all Scandi-gloom (flatpacked for ease of self-assembly). I might email Belgian Waffling and ask her to fix us a Hemlocktini, and we'll indulge in a cheering gloom-off. I might listen repeatedly to the Goldberg Variations, on headphones, because if I concentrate very hard on each note, the hyper-critical interior narrator shuts up for a while - if I can't get rid of it altogether, I can at least switch off the volume. There are a few other strategies, some more effective than others.
Anyway, since I seem to be feeling grumpy about feeling gloomy, I suspect I'm pulling out of it, but whilst on a little hunt for things therapeutic, I remembered I had these excellent anthologies [pictured], compiled by Daisy Goodwin, and containing a poetry prescription for every kind of emotional crisis. Some cheer you because they're funny, some because they're thoughtful, some because they allow you to wallow.
I particularly like this, below, by Vikram Seth
Voices in my head,
Chanting, 'Kisses. Bread.
Prove yourself. Fight. Shove.
Learn. Earn. Look for love.'
Drown a lesser voice,
Silent now of choice:
'Breathe in peace, and be
Still, for once, like me.'