Days are marked for as many varied reasons as there are grains of sand in the Sahara.

First date.

Last drink.

Wedding.

Birth day.

New job.

Death.

Divorce.

War.

Peace.

Rescue.

Lost.

Assassination.

Resignation.

Too many reasons to list them all out, otherwise you’d be reading about how I remember the same day one of my first plays was being read at a rehearsal for the first time coincided with the death of my beloved cat. Or how one day in January is shared across years and events – my brother’s birthday, my uncle’s death and the day I found I was pregnant with our first child. In fact, this week marked the 33rd anniversary of my family moving into Zionsville, Indiana during the worst blizzard in Indiana’s history.

We commemorate, commiserate, and celebrate nearly all major and some minor aspects of our lives.

I guess that is our soul’s way of keeping track of time.

There has to be a fool-proof method for mood adjustment that does not involve chemicals, food or cash, right? Sleep works, but not always. Interaction with people in the desired mood often helps, yet has the risk of back-fire. Music has the ability to provide some relief, however, it can also enhance the existing state.

I am, of course, talking about the undesirable, most offensive and utterly craptacular “bad” mood. If I was in the other kind of mood, I would not want to change it. I only want to fix my ‘tude when it falls below some level of preset, acceptable emotions. And, unfortunately for me and those around me – it has fallen quite far below my standards (which are set pretty low to begin with quite frankly.)

There are lots of reasons.

Plenty of situational experiences.

Quite a few justifiable circumstances.

Even a couple medically disabling diagnoses.

It’s not permanent and doesn’t debilitate enough to prevent normal daily functions. I can laugh and smile all day long – while hoping for a quiet moment to break the surface of my behavior to gasp for air that isn’t draped in the typical Carpenters rainy blue cloud.

I have made a commitment to change the usual tact in addressing the reasons, experiences, circumstances and diagnoses of my life that I, in turn, blame for my lack of imaginative energy and literary world domination. Hence, the daily blog I write that no one but a select, albeit loyal few take a moment or two to read. So far, these writings are mere cranial matter dumps with the fervent potential to regenerate lost creative cells.

Yes, they are raw and intimate and can either be viewed as unsettling or trivial, if viewed at all.

Mere stepping stones, they are, according to Lao-tzu on my thousand mile journey.