Some days don't turn out exactly how you imagine them to.
You might step in a puddle, miss your bus or drop your last salt and vinegar chipstick on the floor. Equally, you could find 10p in an old coat, a butterfly might land on your shoulder and for once your hair might just behave itself.
Either way, I have learnt that the tables seem to keep on turning. A bad day could be followed by a great day. A funny day could be followed by a miserable day. You just don't know. And I must admit I still find that uncertainty rather irritating. But this is the nature of depression and the black dog.
However, at one point all my days just merged into one disgusting numbing dark blob, so things have most definitly improved...