the realist speaks.

A heading on the news just caught my eye.
"Rotten egg smell causes chaos in Queensland."

Chaos? I'm fascinated. What sort of chaos are we talking here? What exactly does the smell of rotten eggs make me people do?

I'm picturing cars grinding to a halt in city streets; sirens blaring, elephants smashing through shop windows. Smoke, people running, people collapsing in doorways.

It seems I have an over-active imagination. Because, apparently, 'chaos' means a few people got sick.

Hmm. Perspective is a valuable thing.

I had to remind myself of this last week. Last week, the most bleak week of the year. The week everything was grey, everything was lost, everything weighed heavy on my heart.

So it seemed.

Nobody had died. I wasn't ill. I hadn't lost anything.

Without boring anyone with the details (and to save face) it came down to the fact that something that I was hoping for didn't happen.

Pretty big deal. At the time.

I quickly found that being depressed takes a lot of energy. I was buggered. I couldn't - and didn't - do anything. I didn't want to see anyone. All I wanted to do was sit and mope and eat chocolate. And mope.

Fortunately, the novelty of being a depressed wreck wore off. The week ended, other things came up. I got over it.

If anything useful came out of the experience, it is the knowledge that even the most crap days finish at 12 midnight.

And sometimes, it is the measure of our own perspective as to how much we really suffer.

The Aussies who passed out because of a strange pong in the air were suffering. My feeling inadequate was suffering. And when we're broke, or angry at someone, or we miss out on the last muffin in the lunchroom, we're suffering.

But it's amazing what a dose of perspective can do for that suffering.

Because, on the same day, someone lost a family member to cancer. Someone else lost their job. And someone else died in a car accident.

It's okay to feel bleak over little stuff, I've realised. For a little while. But at some point, you've got to pull finger. Open your eyes. Be grateful that it's only little stuff.

And get on with living.