Chapter 1: The Weight of a Bad Day

There are times when everything seems to spiral out of control. Those days when misfortunes stack up and the silver linings you expect take a backseat. I'm no stranger to these tough days. As Terry Pratchett humorously noted, "My middle name is Luck. Mind you, my first name is Bad." Typically, I brush it off and push through; after all, it's not a novel experience.

However, on some occasions, it becomes incredibly challenging to shake off the gloom. Interestingly, it’s not always the significant issues that weigh me down, but rather the small annoyances—the proverbial final drops in the bucket.

Recently, the weather here in southern Spain has been unusually cold and rainy. The waterfall in the nearby valley is thundering, swollen with rainwater.

It was during a similar dreary spell two years ago that we stumbled upon an abandoned, scruffy black-and-white dog, whom we've affectionately named Max. He's a joyful companion, brimming with personality.

Max despises inclement weather. On dreary days like this, he gives me his best puppy face, his ears perked just right to amplify his cuteness, silently pleading for the sun to return.

I feel an odd sense of guilt for not being able to change the weather for him. This feeling weighs more heavily than the fact that the saturated hillside is threatening to collapse.

The day dragged on. I received a call from my doctor, who delivered some discouraging news: my injured right hand, which I thought would heal, will not regain full function. A bummer, to say the least.

Yet, strangely, it’s the demise of my little Nim tree saplings during the late March cold snap that troubles me more. Go figure.

It dawned on me that perhaps this fixation on minor issues is a way to avoid confronting the larger ones. While that might hold some truth, I find it easier to tackle substantial challenges. Who wears a brave face when dealing with small inconveniences?

As the day continued, I spoke with my best friend. Our conversation didn’t go as planned. Despite my intentions, I opened up about my major challenges.

What could he possibly do from 2000 miles away, dealing with his own issues? I should have shared my trivial problems instead; he would have gladly offered advice or reassured me that they weren’t worth fretting over. Instead, I ended up burdening him and carried an extra layer of guilt.

I began to question whether I should keep writing this narrative.

At that moment, my computer screen flashed a cheerful blue, announcing: "Your system encountered a problem; it will reboot; please wait." The progress bar stubbornly sat at 0%.

I couldn’t help but chuckle.

While waiting for that progress to budge, I decided to brew a cup of coffee—only to spill it all over myself.

In my flurry to contain the mess, I accidentally stepped on the cat, leading to an uproar. It took a while to negotiate peace with the feline.

And yet, the progress stayed stuck at zero.

Days like these happen.

Eventually, the computer rebooted, the cat settled in my lap, and Max and Buddy, after all the excitement, curled up into a sleepy heap of paws and tails.

I thought I might finally focus on my writing, but curiosity got the better of me, prompting a check on my Medium stats. To my dismay, two days after my best performance, I found my views had plummeted to a mere two.

Indeed, there are those days.

I sat there, mulling over vague conspiracy theories, lamenting my misfortune, and contemplating whether I was even the writer I believed myself to be.

As I stared out the window, I noticed something captivating. In a small, stone-enclosed patch of soil where my irises and selected grasses grow, a tiny mouse was attempting to climb a grass stalk.

It was quite a sight. The stalk was slick with rain, and the little mouse kept sliding back down. Each time it reached a certain height, the stalk would bend, sending it tumbling down again.

Yet, it persisted, trying over and over. Eventually, it climbed high enough to bend the stalk down to the ground, where it could finally reach the seeds at the top.

The brave little mouse was rewarded for its efforts and began to nibble on the seeds.

It might seem simple, but it struck me: hard work and perseverance can lead to success.

Sure, it sounds cliché, but it’s undeniably true. Inspired by that little mouse, I realized that despite my hand's limitations, I only need two fingers to type. In fact, those are all I ever needed.

The potential wall collapse? Nature has a way of providing support; the rain washed down stones that can serve as buttresses.

My articles may not be grabbing attention right now, but at least this one is out of me, no longer trapped on paper. Good riddance.

And who knows? Perhaps one day, I’ll figure out how to bring summer back for Max, allowing him to frolic joyfully as he chases birds and drags home the biggest sticks he can find.

Yes, there are those days, but they eventually come to an end.

Aivaras Grauzinis

Chapter 2: Finding Inspiration Amidst the Chaos

The first video, "Mary Hopkin 'Those Were The Days' on The Ed Sullivan Show," captures a nostalgic performance that can remind us of simpler times, bringing a touch of joy even on the toughest days.

The second video, "Those Were The Days (Remastered)," offers a beautiful rendition of a classic that resonates with the ups and downs of life, encouraging us to embrace the moment.