It's only after your 11th month of continuious bad luck that you begin to have this kind of feeling.

After the first day, you curse your luck and damn the day, then go to sleep with the thought somewhere deep in the back of your mind that tomorrow is another day and with it brings better luck.

After the first week, you simply chalk it up to having a bad week. Your mood is sour and you're tired, but again, that thougt is still there; that optimism is still present. Soon, your luck will change.

After the first month, you begin to accept it. It loosens it's grip as a cognizant thought, you aren't really aware of the daily fits or even weekly fits of bad luck. You simply know that you are at a low point and that things really should be getting better in time.

And that goes on.

And on.

And suddenly, you realize a year has gone by - and not once for that entire year have things gone 'your way' - or any way that could even remotely be considered as yours. That's when it hits you; that feeling of dread and dispair. That feeling which brings with it one wish, one hope which you have long since accepted won't ever be granted.

A chance to rest.

That's all you want. A chance to rest.

And then the sun goes down and the moon comes out and you lay in bed thinking of how you are going to manage whatever steaming pile of bullshit hit you in the face that afternoon, and you lazily drift off and before you know it, your alarm clock is going off and you wake and it feels just like yesterday. And the day before. And the day before.

And all you really want is rest.