Anti-Nice

Today is one of those days--I'm alone, it's quiet outside, sunny if a bit breezy. Nice. Nothing bad happened today, nothing great either. In fact, overall, my day was just nice.

I don't like 'nice' days.

Call me dramatic, but I prefer my days to be memorable. I like to think back and pull a one-liner from a friend out of my memory, or recall how my first teacher of the day had one of his bipolar episodes halfway through class, or even snicker at the discussion about boobs we had while taking a test in Government and Politics. Or maybe the ink on my hands will have a story behind it, or the bruise on my shoulder will have a funny joke from my lab partner to match it. Hell, I'd even prefer my eyes to tear up as I ponder the depths of math I will never, ever understand.

But no. Today, I find my mind blank. I vaguely remember sleeping through my alarm clock and waking up to my brother's an hour later, copying Calculus homework in Lit while discussing themes of The Portrait of Dorian Gray (which I've yet to read), telling my friends that if I have to be around people I'd prefer to be within a foot of them, and attempting to cheer my almost-sister up during business publications.

If I think back to yesterday, I'm forced to conclude it was also a 'nice' day, because I have no memory of the first half of it. I tend to forget the 'nice' days. They don't have any sticky substance to prevent them from slipping out of the tangled cords of my mind--no sweet honey, no tart lemon juice, no gooey colorful putty.

Sure, I enjoy pretty weather when it's seventy degrees out and the sun is shining and there's a slight breeze--who doesn't like days like that? And yes, I admit I appreciate it when someone holds the door open for me out of kindness and I can smile at them in return. I even feel pleased whenever I find a shirt that I really love because it looks good on me and gives off the right vibe for my day.

But I enjoy the rain as much as the sun, because it's not as common and it has a beauty of its own. I appreciate it when somebody says something mouthy and I'm forced to use my sarcasm to insult them back for pissing me off. I feel pleased when I wear something that actually offends the delicate dress sensibilities of my friends because it's shapeless and comfortable.

I don't know. I just don't like 'nice' days. Bad days are better; good days are better. But nice? It sits in the middle, twiddling its thumbs airily, and soon drops out of memory, overshadowed by days following and preceding.

If I'm going to live this life, I'd at least like it to be as far from bland and nice as it possibly could be. That's all I'm asking for.

~ hyacinth

Song Rec: "Devil's Dance Floor" by Flogging Molly