A Book of Days

By Morrisa Sherman

There are good days and bad days. All moods, events, and sensations within an arbitrary number of hours may be overmanded by the experience in one nodule of expended time: a complement, a chest-pain, an unexpected rebuke, a clear quality to the atmosphere, a malaise or a murder in the stockroom. Once the day has been accused and brought into the light where decent folks can scrutinize it's motivations, the evening's atmosphere is easily determined, and appropriate measures may be taken: Please give me a backrub, for I had a bad day. Yes, I had a very good day; why don't we go dancing.

In polite company we accept these generalizations, handing down the judgment of day with only the evidence of a moment, simply because most people do so, though technically only Day Accountants are qualified to assess all variables of a day's morality. For instance, even with all of the world's illness, despair, unemployment, harm, riot, war, and famine, last Tuesday was a good day, given all of the rain puddles stomped worldwide.

The wisest of Day Hierophants find it difficult to pass such vituperative and final dismissals of days, even when they are commonly judged as bad, and will petition the heavens to be more understanding. While most people judged Thursday a bad day, it was technically recorded as a lanky, clumsy day of suspect morality which was not caught red-handed, but which was probably lying.

Smart flames hire andirons.


Copyright © 1992, Morrisa Stanfield Sherman.
This work may not be reproduced in any form without the author's explicit permission


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