It's morning. You're running late, again. You always do this, don't you? Hit the snooze button fifteen times, let the alarm clock play alternative music intermittently for over an hour. But you're tired, of course you're tired. You didn't sleep again last night. Same as the night before. And the night before that. The nightmares, the anxiety, the fact that your brain never stops racing, the fact that your body stops breathing when the anxiety gets too bad and you wake up, panicked, gulping for air that you don't even let yourself breathe.
The commute's not too bad this morning, sometimes it can take over an hour to drive down Santa Monica Blvd from one side of town to the other, with you sitting in the car, trying to not wonder how much the stop and go traffic is gleefully murdering your car's engine, trying not to get hit by SUV's full of one person, reading their iPhone and steering with the hand holding their latte, who ends up swerving in and out of your lane. You try not to think nasty thoughts about people who can't be bothered to just focus on driving. You try to appreciate the fact that the radio is playing the same ten songs it always plays. You try to appreciate the fact that your iPod plays the same ten albums it always plays because you don't have enough money to buy new music, because any extra money you're earning these days is going towards filling your gas tank to get you to your job that gives you the money to fill your gas tank so you can get to your job. Because life is cyclical like that.
Work is okay, nothing special, you sit in front of a computer all day long and do what it is you do, the sort of menial task you get paid well for but it's not like you majored in it college and want to do it for the rest of your life. The window view is nice, your boss is kind and not that demanding and lets you play Pandora in the background, the clients are polite and respectful and things could be a lot worse, you could be one of 14 million unemployed Americans who would kill for your job, but you still wish you were out there, auditioning for acting roles and feeling like you were actually getting somewhere with the career you actually want, the thing you DID major in college for. But then you remember that you've still got time, there's always time, and things can change in a day out here in bright and sunny Los Angeles.
You get home, and your cat, whom you swore was a cat when you adopted it, has turned into a dog, a whiny, needy dog that shrieks if you don't pet it immediately, and you think to yourself, I swear I thought cats were supposed to ignore you, and your boyfriend, your wonderful, sweet, kind boyfriend is already making dinner, even though he's made dinner the last eight nights and it's probably been your turn to make dinner for at least a month now. He's making dinner, and he's twirling around in the kitchen doing eight things at once, and you drop your stuff and come into the kitchen and he stops whatever he's doing (unless he's carrying something hot to the sink) and pulls you into his strong arms and he smells like home and everything you've ever loved, and the cat twirls between the feet of the two of you and begs for food. Because she's actually a dog.
You sit on the couch, eating another amazing dinner compiled mainly from random things your boyfriend found in the fridge (you do not have this gift, alas) and you wrap your fingers around his as you both watch a funny television show that takes your mind off of the fact that your career isn't where you would like it to be, and the late afternoon sunlight dips through the window and hits at just such an angle that it feels like you are actually witnessing a memory or a photograph being created before your very eyes, and you look over at this boy, who makes you so completely and fully happy, and you look at the food sitting in front of you, that you had enough money for in your checking account when you bought it, and you look at the apartment that you love and have decorated with love, and you look at the cat that is now ignoring you as all good cats should do, and your heart fills with warmth and love about how every single thing in your life is amazing, even though it wasn't a particularly amazing day, because you realize just how truly loved you really are, and something expands in your lungs, and it's hope, hope that things will get even better, hope for the future, hope, hope is the thing with feathers, hope floats, hope springs eternal, hope hope hope hope hope....
Thursday 13 on Saturday: Gratitude
1 day ago