Today was one of those days. After two weeks of increasing stress, I hit writer's block this week, with a paper due tomorrow (about torture and the literary) among other monsters. Nothing. I mean nothing. Commence mini-breakdown.
But then...
I'm grateful for a couple friends who pulled me out of my own head, kept me company working, and listened to me grumble. There's something purgative about calling your work what it is, especially when it's just plain bad.
I'm grateful for finally being able to put words on paper that, bad writing as it is, can pass for a paper when the deadline rolls around.
I'm grateful for Jim Brickman sheet music and a piano I could play (after trying for two weeks to find one where no one was studying) without an audience, except a very nice security guard - even if that requires it to be midnight on the worst weather day in a long time.
And I'm grateful I fell on my backside in the mud AFTER the other two events, so that I was significantly lighter-hearted and didn't waste the opportunity for a good laugh at myself.
Sometimes, that's enough.
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