令和7年12月20日（土）
前日早く寝てしまったので午前3時に起床した
もう眠れない感じがしているので起きていることにした 只今4時21分
7時過ぎバスに乗るのでまだ時間がある 5時30分なったらシャワー浴びて支度するか
今日は気温は上がるそうだけどお天気悪くて雨降るかもしれない
気温は17度と言ってたけど日差しが出ないと寒いだろうな しまむらアンダーシャツだけだと対応できないかも その時は明日の分のシャツを重ね着する
デニムの上着 買ったのはいつだったかな？ ライドオンが家の近くにあったころ奮発して1万円のこれを買った 長く着ることが出来ていて今年も来ている ただ買った時は痩せてたけど今デブになってるから重ね着するとパンパンになってしまう 見た目ではなくジッパーが締めずらくなってしまう ダイエットしたいのだけど チップスがおいしすぎて・・・・・ なんか最近全然野菜食べてないな メタボになってダイエット始めたときは野菜主食だったのに 自分は食べないくせに姉にはたくさん食べさせている 姉にたくさん食べさせているから自分の分がないというのもあるのだけどね
サイゼ行くときにはなるべくサラダ食べるようにしている 日高屋でもタンメンあるのだけど肉系にしてしまう
ユーチューブ 収益化の第一段階まで 再生時間が300時間を切った 年内に達成できるだろうか？ 動画作らなくちゃ ネタはあるのだけど編集して作品作る気力が今全然ない
今日の絵
A Quiet Morning
Miki woke up before the alarm rang. The room was silent, wrapped in the soft gray light of early morning.
For a few seconds, she didn’t remember how she felt. Then it came back — the weight in her chest, the tiredness that sleep could not erase.
Some days were like this. Opening her eyes already felt like a battle. Getting out of bed felt impossible.
She stayed still and listened to her breathing. Slow. Shallow. But steady.
Just stay alive today, she whispered in her mind. It wasn’t a brave goal, but it was an honest one.
Outside, somewhere far away, a train passed. The sound was low and distant, but familiar.
That sound always reached her, even on the worst mornings. She couldn’t see the train, but she could imagine it — heavy, strong, moving forward on iron rails.
Miki loved trains. They stopped when they had to. They waited without guilt. And when it was time, they moved again.
She wished humans were allowed to be like that.
Depression didn’t shout. It whispered.
You’re weak.
You’re behind.
You’ll never be the same again.
Those voices felt convincing, especially in the morning. Especially when the world felt too big.
But there was another voice, quieter than the rest. It didn’t argue. It didn’t promise miracles.
It simply said, Not today is okay.
After a long while, Miki moved her hand. Then her arm. Then she slowly sat up.
Her head felt heavy, but the room stayed still. Nothing broke. Nothing collapsed.
She wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and walked to the window. The sky was full of clouds, thick and slow.
Clouds always move, she thought. Even when we can’t see it.
Some days, progress meant walking outside. Some days, it meant talking.
Today, progress meant standing here. Breathing. Looking.
Healing was not a straight road. It curved, stopped, and sometimes went backward.
But somewhere ahead — far beyond this morning — there was a platform waiting.
One day, she would stand there. Feel the cold air. Hear the sound grow louder.
A train would arrive. Real. Solid. Unmistakable.
Until that day came, she would rest. She would allow herself to be slow. She would stay.
And staying was strength. Even if no one else could see it.
Miki will return. Slowly. Quietly. Surely.