There’s a overwhelming sense of helplessness when the mood sets in. When life becomes a little too much to bare but you’re unable to unburden yourself because the ceaselessness of time doesn’t leave room for rest. The show must go on. And it is a show. This is a role. You won’t win any awards for it, there is no applause, there is no ceremony to it all (although the word ‘ritual’ certainly feels fitting). But the effort is just as much as it would be otherwise. And it’s at the end of the day when you’ve acted your heart out and there’s nothing more left in you, but you see the sink overflowing, the laundry hamper over flowing, the accoutrements of various hobbies that, for some reason, have lost their appeal and you think “what the hell has happened to me,” it’s in those moments that the feeling cements and becomes heaviest. Those are the moments the mood really sets in and turns up the dial. And there’s nothing more to do than to ride it out. To hobble through the marathon with a broken leg in hopes that the bones have a chance to rest and mend when the finish line is crossed.