75/90, a not-so-wasted day

For as long as I could reach the mailbox, checking the mail has been one of the minutes I look forward to most each day. There are those that respond to this by saying, "You've never gotten bills." To that, I say several things. First, false; I have gotten bills. Second, "You have never worked at a Hallmark store."

Now there were lots of things that I did not enjoy about working for Hallmark. There were several things that I liked very much–like putting out the new cards, finding the niche holiday that matched something I care about, or coming across a discontinued card in a drawer and saving it to give to the perfect friend at the perfect moment.

I have an amazing pen-pal. I've had a series of amazing pen-pals, but that is not what this post is about. I promise to come back to this at another time.

What this post is about is the series of events and emotions that took over my Monday evening. I had an explosion following a group meeting. I've been praying for patience, repeating the Serenity Prayer like Zooey Glass and the Jesus Prayer. I've been trying to internalize it, and I failed today. I fell apart a bit.

After that, I realized that school for the evening was a lost cause. I couldn't sit down in my quiet room and write another paper. I've been saying this everyday. I've been failing at something everyday, and today I'd had enough.

I had emotionally exhausted myself, left the meeting and came home only to leave again. I had errands to run. And this is where the mail is important. All of my errands culminated in the stamping and addressing of several packages–a gift to my aunt, recovering from surgery; a card for my boss, whose mom is struggling with cancer; a letter to a pen-pal, who anxiously awaits Ph.D. program responses; a packet that has to make it to France by the end of the month.

Looking at that list, I realized how little I had to complain about. My life, overall, is going okay. Now, all I could hope for was to make everyone else's a bit better. I started to feel better about the night. I worried that the total of out-of-class writing that remains for my undergraduate career is 10 pages, split between three different project. A mere pittance.

I've mapped out the rest of the week, but more importantly, I've realized that despite the freak-out, the prayer is starting to take hold. I'm turning my attention more towards others, and in turn giving myself more time to be a Person: to address the needs of others, listen and remind them that I love them.

The night ended with cookies, again for my boss as she "diets." I burnt my palm on the side of the pan and was surprised when instead of cursing or slamming my spatula or bursting into inexplicable tears (all of which my roommate and fiancé have witnessed... at the same time), I wrinkled my nose a bit and went on plopping the cookie dough onto the sheet. Because in the end, that's all we can do. Keep munching the dough, moving through the pain and remembering that it's worth the wait.