This has been a take-no-crap day,
a this-is-life-in-all-its-guts-and-glory kind of day, a day of
rolling my eyes at the freaking non-blinker-using drivers and
shouting profanities at the radio when they quote those driveling anti-background-check senators
(do you know how good it feels to yell in your car by yourself when actually you're surrounded by hundreds people in the lanes beside behind in front of you but your windows are up and so no one can hear you? Not quite as good as singing with the windows down, I admit, but sometimes it just feels GOOD, dammit.)
chugging my too-hot tea so I won't be late to work which makes me feel sick and
being late anyway
feeling conflicted because I went to sleep dreaming of Duck Dynasty and NBA three-point records
and I wake up with an ammonia explosion and a charred nursing home in West, Texas
and how do you not start to sound like some kind of broken record when it seems like you almost have to have a Twitter opinion (Twitterpinion?) on everything, seconds apart, happy and sad, angry and joyous? What if I simply throw up my hands for once and say I DON'T KNOW WHY THINGS HAPPEN?!
This has been a piece-to-piece, pen-to-paper, phone-to-ear day, a click-and-drag day of
overlapping to-dos and back-to-back print jobs, pounding on keyboards
staring out the window at the sky, and when I do go out I swallow pollen and want to go inside.
Did you know sometimes (okay, most times) I am more scared to call a teenager on the phone to get their thoughts on the church mission project than any adult? True story. I almost don't even know what that means but this is that kind of day.
I get this feeling in my bones, my stomach, my chest I guess, when I am working on a deadline, or maybe it's mostly in my legs, they tense and set themselves apart, I type fast and I read to myself and I mumble and groan, I do, at least today, and I tense as if I'm about to run or hear a loud noise or something because it must get done done done and I'm not going to think that if my legs are lax.
And then I finish it and I breathe from my belly again and kick my legs freely under the desk. And move on to the next.
This has been a day of relentless running, lunch at 2 p.m., a cobb salad afterthought (and it was delicious), and guiltily swiping my credit card at the new temptation of a snack machine for a Dove chocolate bar, demolishing its silky sweetness and not giving a damn about heartburn because I guess today I just don't.
This has been a day of joyous, small-step, journey discussions with new voices and familiar, embracing and encouraging and exploring identity and embracing abundance, mentors and best friends.
This has been a day when the small moments start to build up and seem big, when you don't know what the path holds next but you know that something you said or something that was said to you will somehow gently push you into that "blessing brightly lit that yet to us is dark" (Berry).
This has been a day of note-taking on life, book titles and patience and keeping the light and being the light and being yourself even when you're not light. This has been a day of gratitude for friends.
This has been a day of finishing late at work, and loving my spin class so much I'm willing to bypass my couch, throw on a t-shirt and shorts and get there late, and sweat my neck and arms and pits and face into oblivion because there is no AC except for the three corner fans and we sing along to the playlist (I skip out on the standing climb 'cause when hard work don't pay off and I'm tired there ain't...) and whoop and holler before the yoga class arrives and we have to get quiet so we don't bother their zen.
This has been a day of courageously facing an almost-cold shower to uncherry my cheeks and feel new and clean with the sunset streaming through my kitchen windows.
This has been a day of thinking about the grocery store but not going, of knowing that the hamper is overflowing but not carrying it the 10 feet to the washer.
This has been a day of accidentally skipping dinner and already picturing breakfast, a day of noise from the next door neighbor, a day of only coupons in the mail and suspects on the news and and a sorrowful, worn-out country breathing invisible air and clinging to a YouTube video of the Star-Spangled Banner roared by spirit-full everyday folks at a hockey game.
This has been a day of thinking about my first dog, the sweetest rusty red and licking tongue pup, no sweeter will you find, and how he's fading, and how I'm not there for my parents and I'm not 11-years-old anymore like I was when I held him, mesmerized, in the back of the car for the first time, and how that is such a blessing and such a burden.
This has been a day of knowing that all this may sound superficial to one person and deeply resound with another, and this has been a week of valuing so much - life and limb and love - when so much has been blasted apart.
This has been a day of littles that equal larges, tumbling down on me at the end of the day, giving me grief and gratitude and, please God, grace.
This has been a day that has somehow seemed infinite and miniscule, brilliant and blighting.
And in some way it feels different from all other days.
Or maybe that's just because I've been paying more attention.