Another Day It was one of those days. A day that I did not want to start. A day that just meant sadness. A day that could be better spent sleeping. I’ve spent a good part of my life going in and out of depression. I’ll spend weeks at a time crying away frustrations and then I may spend a week bouncing from the walls. It’s like a roller coaster (only I’m riding it blindfolded). Each turn is unknown. Today was Sunday—Sundays are rarely good days. Of course, I had to work, so I forced myself out of bed and got ready for the trip to Rochester. I treasured the half-hour in my car, listening to music and sorting thoughts inside my head. I sang along to the country that filled my car.