The Mood

She was in one of those moods again. A mood where she can’t seem to make or allow herself to smile. One where she can sympathize with the heinous and evil - the guy who shows up at school or work and kills dozens of people, the mother who takes the life of her children before taking her own. The same mood that also made her think and feel like no one understood her and she didn’t need them anyway. There was a part of her mind that knew this mood was dangerous, for her and for those who loved her, but it was like the mood had a mind of its own, its own power source that she couldn’t turn off. She lay in bed, trying to tell herself to get up and start her day, but her body wouldn’t obey her. The mood, insisting there was no point in getting up, obviously had a strong hold on her. After what felt like a long, internal struggle, her legs finally obeyed her and swung down the side of her bed. Her feet landed on the floor, but the feeling she would often enjoy of the soft carpet under her feet, went by ignored. She opened the curtains to find sunshine bursting through the window. She winced.

Figures, the mood whispered under her breath. Yesterday she’d woken ready to take on the day and be active, but it had rained all day. Typical, the mood told her. She could feel the part of her brain that wanted to seize the day, the sunshine, and go for a run or a bike ride, but the mood quickly silenced it, pushing it aside. She dragged her feet to the closet and turned on the light. Her clothes looked so drab and boring, the mood told her. It convinced her that even the shirt she loved for both comfort and style was a piece of shit. She threw on a stained and crappy shirt and some yoga style pants.

No need to dress up, the mood told her. It’s not like we have anywhere to go, or like anyone gives a shit. She proceeded to brush her teeth and do her regular morning routine. When she met her own eyes in the mirrors reflection, it was as though she couldn’t recognize herself. Look how old you’re getting, the mood told her. Look at the places that are saggy. Look at the wrinkles, the gray hair. She could hear her real self trying to yell at her not to listen. That she’d earned every wrinkle and gray hair with her experience in life. But the mood simply laughed at her, so she turned off the bathroom light and walked away.

She opened the fridge in the kitchen, knowing she should eat something. There were lovely avocados and mushrooms which she could add on toast. You don’t want that, the mood told her. She did. She knew it was the healthier option, but the mood somehow convinced her otherwise. Something sugary will make us feel better. Some sort of pastry stuffed with jelly. She closed the fridge and sighed. She turned to the bread and pastry basket on the counter. It was empty, except for a couple of end pieces of bread. For fuck sakes, the mood yelled. Someone ate all the good stuff. She turned her back to the fridge and looked at the avocado and mushrooms. She reached for it but her hand stopped halfway. If you can’t have what you want, don’t eat, the mood told her. She didn’t want to listen. She didn’t want to not eat, but she watched her hand slowly lower and the fridge close. She walked over to the living room and sat on the couch. She thought of the to do list she’d created the night before. It was on her desk upstairs. Too far, the mood told her. You deserve some time to just chill and do nothing, don’t you? You work hard. Life is hard. Take a day. She knew the truth was different. Yes, she worked, but it wasn’t hard work. She was a writer While it could be challenging, she loved it and rarely felt restricted or unhappy about it. But the mood was so strong. It almost felt like it was changing the physiological function of her brain, like it had full control.

It’s not like anyone really gives a shit about what you do anyway, the mood suddenly said, and she felt her heart drop. None of your siblings have read it. Even your own husband can’t make the time. She knew they all had lives and were busy with work, kids, responsibilities and taking care of themselves, but the moods truth hurt. It wasn’t lying. It wasn’t wrong. Maybe they’d read a couple of things, but even then, they’d only give three to five words in feedback. It was frustrating not knowing if they liked her writing. They’d said many times that they believed in her, that they believed she could make it as a writer, that she was “so good”. But what did that mean? Especially when they’ve barely read any of it.

She heard a ringing and realized her phone was going off. She picked it up from the coffee table to see a text message from Jenny. ‘How are things? Haven’t heard from you in a while?’ She smiled on the inside, happy to know Jenny was thinking of her, but the mood vigorously shoved that aside. Maybe she should actually fucking call, the mood told her. When you care about someone, you call! You don’t text, facebook message or tweet! You call! She cleared the message from her home screen and then slammed the phone back down on the table. Some friend, the mood said. Whenever she needed you, you were right there. Calling her regularly. Taking her out to remind her of the good things in life. Supporting her in every way you could think of. And now, when you need her, she disappears on you. Her right mind knew Jenny was overwhelmed with life. Recently separated with two teenage boys, handfuls on their own, and having to work three jobs to make ends meet, she knew Jenny was busy, possibly even unhappy herself. But still, the mood whispered. How hard is it to call? To make time?

She looked out the patio doors at the sun shining on the back deck through the bright green leaves of the large tree off the backyard. She didn’t want to think about Jenny anymore. Or her siblings. Or her husband. She didn’t want to think at all. Perhaps it would shut the mood up. So, she grabbed the remote and turned Netflix on. She began browsing through the content. Perhaps a good documentary would snap her out of it. Or a great tear jerker, the mood chimed in. She tried to ignore it, but perhaps a good cry was what she needed. It’ll feel good, and help you realize how good you’ve actually got it. Though a part of her disagreed, the mood had convinced her and she sat to watch a sad movie.

By the end, she was bawling. The movie had been amazing, but heartbreaking. She turned the TV off and sat crying for quite some time when she heard her phone go off again.

‘How’s it goin?’ It was her husband.

‘Fine,’ she wrote back.

‘Watcha doin?’ She wanted to write that she’d just watched a movie but, that makes you look bad, the mood told her. You tell him you sat and watched a movie and he’ll think less of you. He’ll get mad because you’re supposed to be writing. And if not that, then at least cleaning the house or doing something useful. He doesn’t work all day so that you can sit at home and watch Netflix. Tears welled in her eyes and she began to sob. The mood was right. Why had she spent all morning watching Netflix? What an ass she was. Her phone chimed again to remind her of the last text.

‘Research,’ she finally replied. ‘And then I’m going to do laundry and clean the bathrooms.’

‘Sounds like a productive day.’ What? Like you’re not usually productive? The mood was angry now. He always pushes guilt on you like that. He tries to play it off as supportive, but really he’s just checking up on you. He doesn’t trust you. She didn’t know what to believe, but she could feel the anger inside of her now.

‘Always,’ she wrote back. ‘Gonna go write now. Ttyl.’

‘Ok. Love you.’

‘Love you too.’ She left her phone on the coffee table and walked upstairs to her office. She tried writing for hours, but the mood kept distracting her. I bet your phone is lighting up with texts from him, asking more questions about what you’re doing, how much you’ve gotten done. Funny how he’s supportive enough to check on whether you’re doing your work, but never finds the time to read any of it. She knew this wasn’t necessarily the only truth. Being supportive of a dream that wasn’t easily monetized was a new thing for him. It was a new zone he’d never found easy to navigate, but he was trying. He loved her enough to try and she knew that, but the mood was working overtime to convince her otherwise.

And don’t forget the amount of times a day you have to comfort him with his work. Everytime a coworker annoys him, or his boss doesn’t listen to him, or he’s freaking out about something that’s absolutely none of his business, you have to swoop in, stroke his ego and make him feel better. So annoying. She knew that’s what couples who support each other do. She knew that she was a good wife and that he appreciated it. But the mood kept working to persuade her otherwise.

It was almost 2PM and she’d done bupkis all day. She stared at her laptop screen and yelled out in frustration. Who are you kidding? The mood began. You’re not a writer. You’re a wannabe who’s never gonna be.

Perhaps if she slept the mood would shut up, disappear. She stood from her desk and walked over to her bed. It was comfy. It was welcoming. She sank into the mattress and pulled the blanket over her body. Perhaps just a bit of sleep will help.

She felt a soft hand on her cheek and a strange tickling sensation on her forehead. “Wake up hun!” It was her husband. She opened her eyes slowly to see him making a silly face at her. She groaned and turned away from him. Why was he in her space? Why had he woken her? She could still feel the mood, possibly even stronger than before. “You ok?” She nodded.

“I’m fine,” she lied.

“Did something happen?” He kissed her cheek and she moved her pillow so he couldn’t see her face. He poked her again, trying to make her laugh, but she ignored it. He finally stood up. “What’s up babe? Is there something wrong?” She could hear him walking around.

“I’m fine,” she said louder.

“Why are you in bed?” She removed the pillow from her face to look at him. He was in their walk-in closet. He needs to shut up. He doesn’t understand.

“Am I not allowed to be?” she asked, sounding harsher than she meant to, though it had been a silly question. He’s making sure you’re worth the work, all the time and effort he puts in. If you’re just wasting your time each day, you’re wasting his.

“That’s not what I said,” he responded without looking out at her. “It’s just not like you. Unless there’s something wrong.”

“Ugh!” she yelled and sat up. “Why are you always on me?” He slowly came out of the closet, a look of confusion and hurt on his face. “Let me work at my pace. Sometimes I need moments to collect myself.” She turned away from him and pretended to be looking for something on her bedside table. “We can’t all be perfect like you, all the time.”

“I never said anything about perfection, and I’m not trying to be on you.” He moved closer to her but she stood and walked past him without looking at him. He followed her. “What’s going on?”

“I’ve got shit to do,” she yelled once out of the bedroom, and stormed off downstairs into the kitchen.

Maybe she was just hungry, she told herself. You know that’s not it, the mood told her. She could hear something like a maniacal laugh behind its words. She tried to ignore it as she pulled pots and ingredients out of the cupboards.

“Hey mom,” her daughter walked in. “What’s for dinner?” she asked. She looked at her daughter, giving her a look that she knew would immediately silence her. “Do you want some help?” she hesitated.

“You know what would be nice?” she heard herself ask. She moved to the sink to see crumbs of food and dirty dishes in it. “If everyone would clean up their own messes.” Why should you have to clean up after their snacks and other crap? She turned the sink on and watched it begin to fill up.

“I’m sorry,” her daughter moved closer. “I had homework to…”

“It’s fine,” she interrupted her. “I’ve got it.” Her daughter hesitated and she could see she wanted to help, but she moved to stand in a way that made it impossible for her. She proceeded to ignore her until she walked away.

She made dinner and yelled for everyone to come and eat.

“Thanks for making dinner, mom.” Her son smiled at her and moved to hug her. She allowed his arms to drape around her waist, but didn’t reciprocate. When he let her go, she moved to make room for him to serve himself.

They all sat and she ate in silence as they talked about their favorite and least favorite part of their days. She waited for one of them to ask her about her day. They’re not going to ask, the mood told her. And they didn’t. Perhaps it was because they were afraid of what she might say. Or maybe they just don’t care, the mood convinced her. She sighed, finished eating and then went back to her room.

She lay still in her bed for what felt like hours. She heard the door open but didn’t move to see who it was.

“Do you want to watch something with us?” her husband asked. She shook her head, no and stared out the window. “We can watch something silly. Laugh a little?” She shook her head, no, and he left the room. You’d think he’d want to hug you, rub your shoulders, make you feel better. She sighed and closed her eyes, covering her face with her pillow. Why doesn’t anyone get it?

She fell asleep and woke again an hour or so later. Her room was empty and dark. She moved to look at her phone on her bedside table. No texts, no missed phone calls. She opened facebook and scrolled through to see posts about the appalling political climate and others about how great everyone else’s lives seemed to be. Friends sharing meals and drinks together. Siblings who visited each other. Something you never get to experience, the mood told her. She turned her phone off and put it back on the table. She lay still again until she fell asleep.

She felt her husband climb into bed next to her some time later. He turned on his phone and began watching some sort of video. Seriously? The mood questioned. Does he just not care? She turned to him and sighed.

“You ok, hun?” he asked. She took a deep breath and nodded.

“I’ll be fine,” she told him. He put his phone down and turned toward her.

“You sure?” he brought his hand to her body and began rubbing her back. It felt nice. She nodded. “Hard day?” She nodded again and he moved in to be closer to her. “You’re not alone,” he whispered just before he kissed her shoulder. She couldn't speak. There were no words to say in response. “I love you.” He kissed her again and then moved back to his side of their bed. She felt tears well up in her eyes and the mood stayed silent. Why had she let the mood control her? Why had she let it ruin her day? Her husband and children had come home in great moods, ready and wanting to share them with her. In response, she’d been mean and unkind. She wanted to apologize, but knew there was nothing she could say to explain her behaviour. She felt a tear roll down her temple. She wiped it away and looked over at her husbands breathing form across the bed. She sighed and moved in to hug him from behind. He moved his arm so she could wrap it around his body.

“I love you,” she whispered. He moaned, a pleasing sound and she half smiled. “Forever.”

“Forever, and ever babe,” he muttered and his breathing grew heavier. She moved back to her side after kissing his shoulder and sighed. She searched for the mood, but it was gone. ‘Please don’t come back tomorrow,’ she pleaded as she closed her eyes and prayed for a restful sleep.

She woke the next morning, feeling rested and ready to take on the day. She lowered her feet onto the plush carpet and smiled as she felt her toes curl the fibers in between them. She opened the curtains to find a grey day. The sky filled with intermittent clouds and sun. She quickly dressed, brushed her teeth and went down to the main floor. She put on her shoes as her dog dutifully waited. She strapped his harness on, opened the door and walked out to the street. Her phone chirped and she opened it to see a text from her husband.

“Good morning, my love!” it said. “How are you?” She stopped walking to respond.

“I’m good thanks, and you?”

“I’m good,” it read. “Just about to go into a meeting, but I wanted to tell you I love you. Have a great day!” She smiled.

“You too! XO” She closed the texts and put her phone back in her pocket. She looked up at the sky, seeing the sun burst through a couple of clouds. She took a deep breath in, searching for the mood and finding nothing but silence. She smiled and took a step forward. Today was going to be a good day.

Ⓒ June 2019. Beki Lantos. All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the author.