On Feeling Pitiful Sometimes

Every few weeks or so, I wake up and proceed to have The Worst Morning In The History Of Ever. I'm groggy, my stomach is acting insane and I don't know why, and I look in the mirror to discover an angry-looking zit near the corner of my mouth.

Then, it's time to figure out what I'm wearing, and nothing seems to fit right. I hate it all. My shoes pinch my toes, the zipper on the dress I had picked out is broken, and I actually start to throw stuff around like a little brat. Nothing is working, I whine, and I don't cry, but I feel like screaming. My hair is a mess and I should have washed it last night but I didn't, so now I have to wear it up high on my head and just hope for the best.

I make coffee and spill it all over my car. And then it's 7:30 and I usually leave by 7:15 and then there are school buses stopping traffic on every street because school is back in session and I forgot.

Nothing is working.

This is the worst morning, ever.

Do you know how stupid that is? Plenty of things are working. My legs, for example. And my brain. And that morning, I continued to breathe and I woke up to another day. I got into a car that I own and it started and I drove myself to a job that I really like. I ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I talked on the phone with a man who I love and who loves me back. And then I spent time with my parents, and we sat outside and looked at the lake and I took a shower and got in my own comfortable bed in a big safe house, because I am lucky.