Hardships... are still floating

I wrote my French master thesis (a big ordeal in France.....at least 85 pages - I did 86 - that you spent a whole year working on) on how melancholy was a powerful stimulant for writing. I was focusing on a somewhat obscure French author of the 17th century. His name was Tristan L'Hermite and to me, he looked a bit like Lord Byron, two centuries early. No stupid wig, dark long hair and a little mustache...
I loved it.

But I really have to question the veracity of this thesis.
Because, seriously - melancholy, pain, sadness, depression, sorrow or whatever you want to call it - has radically the opposite effect on me: it drains me OUT.

Things have been pretty hard in our lives for the last few years. Nothing is ever easy for anyone but sometimes you have to wonder what it is exactly that you did to anger the gods to that extent. I am not sure; sometimes I joke around and say that Chicago is not meant for me. Even though I love this city with a fierce passion I often feel that the 'feeling' (if I may say so) is not mutual. Well - too bad. I am sticking around. I was born stubborn and will stay that way.
Hopefully for me the curse was mainly hovering above the University and won't follow me for too long in this lovely Village with which I have fallen head over heels.

And sometimes it is hard not to lose hope, and find the strength to go on - no matter what. But after a moment (or a few) of obligatory mourning, head buried in pillows, tissue in one hand, chocolate/remote/cheese/cupcake in the other something mysteriously happens deep inside. Suddenly it doesn't hurt as much, it's not as dark, the clouds break away and a ray of sunshine, shy, and still pallid comes to warm up the sky.
It happened today, around 2pm.

Let's go back on the field to fight the battle.