Picture an old, long-closed hotel. Inside it is dreary, desolate and lonely, with deep black shadows and frightening scurrying sounds in the dark.
Imagine that the only things that work are its revolving doors and that sometimes as you pass the hotel you step into the doors and roundabout yourself in them. You catch brief glimpses of the dark as you whizz merrily by, but you always emerge into the bright sunshine.
Sometimes, though, you get it wrong and find yourself stepping out of the spinning doors into the darkness.
Now imagine that all of this is your brain. Or mine, at any rate.
Too many long days, too many work problems, too little sleep (I work up at three yesterday morning, which would sound absolutely dreadful were it not for this morning, when I woke at ten to two) have made me miss my stop, as it were, so I have stepped out of the doors on the wrong side.
Some people get lost in the dark of the hotel. Some even try to book in. I have always found my way out, and will do so again, although the doors are harder to push from that side.
I am taking next week off (yes, this is only my seventh day back at work after a whole ten days off, what’s your point) to rest and recover.
It is January, so I am unlikely to feel sunshine on my shoulders, but I will yet again feel sunshine in my mind.