Some Days
Some days can be really great in an exhausting way. Like you’re not used to good things happening without bad things in between. Some days your story is workshopped and you feel overwhelmingly happy afterwards; like they finally got what you’ve been trying to say all along. Then you go home and open a Valentine’s Day package from your mom. She’s sent you a gas station gift card that will buy you at least a tank and a half, fancy chocolate, and a personalized cup, which you normally wouldn’t be a fan of, but your mom has taken the time to look up a quote from your favorite author and the words are in a nice cursive font and they remind you that your mom may not fully understand why you write and she may not have the willpower to read what you write, but she does know that it’s important to you and that’s enough. And after all this goodness, you feel tired. You want to curl up in the fetal position and eat all that fancy chocolate. For some reason, knowing that you are loved and understood is somehow more emotionally devastating than the absence of those same things.
