One of the hardest decisions I make every day is whether or not to be sad. Because there are wars and we're dying in them. Because we all prefer our own way and there are not enough ways for all of us. Because there are things I simply can not do and maybe even more that I will not do. Because sickness is cruel and accidents happen and I always feel a little stupider than I was the day before which is only slightly ameliorated by the fact that everyone else seems to be keeping pace.
Which is sad. But for some reason and by some means, I usually stave off the sadness.
Because there are planetary nebulae and darling hedgehogs. Because eventually it will be autumn so there will be magentas and Brunswick stew, whiffs of beautiful decay and barks of backyard football. Because rain both comes and goes and is welcome in both the coming and the going. Because of food. Because of books.
And books can be sad, horribly, sobsomely sad but they also smell like autumn.
Besides, in lieu of sadness, madness is a viable option. So daily I can always decide to lose my mind. Or at least let it wander for a while.
And besides that-- sad's good too. Like decay. Like winter. Like ignorance.