It was dark and raining when I woke up this morning. Meaning the morning commute will take longer than usual. That I have a commute at all meaning I have to go to work. All of this points to pain and misery.
But when I get to work, I’m still buoyant from the weekend. It was odd really, this fire of joy and optimism that was burning inside me. That almost never happens anymore. Even as the sun set and the work day was coming to an end, the indignity and trauma of work didn’t dampen that optimism. I was a little more tired, sure, but not beaten down.
It’s quite amazing just how refreshing that show at the Complex was. Here I am two days later still harping about it.