Good Day, Small Stuff

It was a good day. Mostly.

I was surprised to get much done. My days have a strange elasticity. I hate it sometimes. Today I didn't mind.

After I lost an hour's worth of waking up with Farmville (mental masturbation) I checked the usual websites. Horoscopes, news, email, Facebook. I got dressed, nicely. Of course this was only because I thought I heard a gun shot, and called 911, wondering if the economy had gotten to one more poor soul. I thought officers might come by, and so being in my throw-on, run-daughter-to-school clothes didn't seem good. Even better I got some make-up on, high heels, and a nice shirt. Put my hair up. Did my nails. This was good.

The sun started slowly to come out, clouds dissipating. I thought about curling up in the sunny patch on my floor, but the dogs were in it, and I resisted the temptation.

I talked to a friend, then later, when I started to slump called another. I talked about lacking clear direction, but not about having too many choices. I told her I'm not sure I can go to grad school this year, and how a big job seems too much right now. Talked about my other fears and how music helps the weary. And TV doesn't help, and I don't have one right now anyway, which suits me.

I made a list of those closest to me, for those days I can't get motivated to call anyone. More good actions.

I checked on my tax refund, which has made me nervous. What if it is lost in the electronic ether? Subconsciously I decided not to think about that today. I'll think about that tomorrow.

I checked on my son's possible housing next year for his first year in college. I wondered vaguely how we would pay for it.

I did a load of laundry and wondered about the toll on all the people out of work, how not working is as hard as working. You feel frustrated, down, and sometimes grateful for being able to rest, even with the anxiety. You feel guilty. I pondered a nation of so many without work, on the edge financially, and if anyone had tried to take measure of the emotional toll. Maybe in the national happiness index? But that doesn't seem adequate. I thought about how so many employed people resent those not working, and are envious. Mirrored feelings of the unemployed.

I checked a job fair out, without any real motivation to attend. But I did look at it. Thought it would be a good idea, to do some of those. A suit and a resume and a "Can Do" attitude are beyond me. I'm pretty sure they would know I view them, and most all companies, with deep suspicion. So not today, but soon.

I talked to someone about a part-time job, and wondered if I can succeed in a small office. I know it would be good for me, even part-time. Even if I have to drive a distance from my daughter, and leave her in a town where we know so few people. I don't think about how she could break her arm. And who would be there for her? It's only part-time I tell myself.

I drove to a local government office to check on benefits. Didn't find it, but found another office, that I may need. Drove by a business with no signs, and another where I wondered if they would be a good fit for me.

I decided to write honestly about my life.

Home again I wrote a long blog post, full of writing energy. Three hours slipped by, and afterwards I realized this is like many of my days, but with good energy, something I struggle to capture when it comes.

Those little rituals like taking the dogs out, and eating got done. Now it's dinner time, and I'm cooking for the child who is playing outside in the warmer weather. She's playing with a friend, which cheers me.

Looking for work in a failing economy, I thought about all the others in the same boat, wondering what happened to our plans. And others still who just struggle along even with good, steady income, all facing our own challenges.

Getting my day published seems to have it's own value. My small corner made visible to an unknown public. It helps, the small stuff. Honesty. Small courage.