I’ve had one of those days. One of those frustration-trending-toward-tears days. One of those get me out of here, get me a drink, get me a padded room kind of days.
One of those days that fits in perfectly with one of those weeks, which is just a fourth (a fifth, apparently, thanks to some freak calendar alignment this October) of one of those months.
I am tired of hearing myself complain about meetings and too much work and not enough time and laundry needs to be done and I can’t get to the dry cleaner and goddamn Metro and my feet hurt and sweet Christ, I want to tell myself to shut up.
We all bitch endlessly–my job, my mother, my ex, my landlord, my waistline, my bank balance, my future, my past. But we so rarely pay attention to or acknowledge what makes it better.
Stepping into a cab tonight, reaching for my phone, I found an unexpected email from a friend who means more to me than the brief history of our friendship should allow.
“Despite the fact that I had nothing to do with it, I regret all of it. You deserve better, you know?”
My eyes welled, my shoulders relaxed, and my internal voice, which spent the day screaming “Screw you and you and you,” took a break.
That’s what made it better, tonight, for me.