Today I pretty much wanted to cry all day.
Luckily for those involved in the making of today I only did it once, in front of my acupuncturist.
I nearly cried when my talented, hard-working wife was rejected, yet again, from a job she could easily and efficiently do.
I nearly cried when my daughter rang me to ask if she was reading too much into the fact that her boyfriend keeps avoiding spending time with her on weekends.
I nearly cried when the receptionist at my acupuncturist’s gently reminded me to ask him to discount my treatment again.
I nearly cried when I saw a be-suited man patting a dog that was sitting beside another man who was homeless, and the man in the suit was speaking to the other man gently and with compassion.
I nearly cried when the tram driver tried to shut the doors on me as I was getting on because he couldn’t see me and so all the good work that the acupuncturist had done could have been undone.
I nearly cried when I was filling out my special consideration form for university because this pain has made it impossible to study properly.
I nearly cried when I got to the station and realised that the next train was stopping all stations.
I nearly cried when I read all the facebook posts that glibly told my wife how to “get a job” knowing that she’s done all that and more.
I nearly cried when my phone died mid text.
It’s days like this that can really drain you or they can reaffirm your life for you.
For me I can proudly say that I didn’t cry at all those things, that I didn’t let the melancholy overtake me, that I sought joy in the very things that almost made me cry.
My daughter trusts me and talks to me about her worries and fears and triumphs and joys.
The receptionist (and acupuncturist) care that I don’t end up juggling non-negotiable bills to pay for their bill.
My talented wife has friends who want to help in whatever way they can.
Strangers can surprise and delight you with their care and compassion.
The jolt from the tram door doesn’t seem to have caused any damage.
The long train journey will mean that I’ll write this out by hand and hone it before subjecting you all to it on my blog.
The dead phone also contributes to the former and it means I must say “I love you” to my wife, on our anniversary of the first, um, time that we, um, fell asleep together holding hands, in person, when she gets home from her interim job that is paying her money and keeping the wolf from the door.
Filling out the special consideration form means I can see how much this pain has interfered with my study and I have made sure to put in an extension form too, thanks to the school administration officer who sent it through and was looking out for me.
Life is good, I have a caring family, good friends, a considerate work place, and, although life sends curve balls, it often sends homers.
This was written as stated, on the train home, and, although I said I’d hone it, I’ve not done much to take away the rawness.
I had plans on turning it into song lyrics, or building a more poetic cadence around it, but I decided to leave this. I might revisit it. I’m open to suggestions.