Today, strangely, turned out to be a good day.
Nothing happened today to make it good. I actually woke up kinda depressed. You know, the usual stuff, had a hard time getting out of bed because whats the point? I made myself get up, get Rachel ready, and get to work.
Work wasn’t all that stellar today, either. Something is going on but no one is talking. If it effects us worker bees at all, we’ll find out eventually, but it still made me nervous. I trudged through the day looking forward to picking my baby girl up from daycare and going home. She is always the highlight of my day.
I picked her up after a v-e-r-y s-l-o-w day at work, ordered a pizza for me and one of my best friends to feast upon tonight, as tonight was “coffee” night, and headed on home. It hit me on the 605. I felt good. I felt very good.
Now, it wasn’t that manic kind of good that made me feel like I was on top of the world, everything was going my way, I could do no wrong, and I was the best of everything. It was the kind of good that felt like, you know what, things aren’t that bad. And you know what, things could even get better. That kind of good that made me think that maybe I’m starting to let go of things and get on with my life.
It was that hopeful kind of good.
I tried not to dwell on it, and succeeded. I just wanted to enjoy feeling something besides pain, anger, resentment, and bitterness for a while. It stayed with me when I picked up the pizza, it stayed with me while I was cleaning when I got home, and it stayed with me while my friend was over with her little girl.
It’s still with me now, and I hope its there with me when I wake up in the morning.