I called 311 to remedy the negligent landlord issue and sent an e-mail to my boss: I needed a day to relax. I baked some biscuits, I brewed some coffee, I watched endless repeats of Roseanne. Just as I was starting to de-stress, the rotating plate from the microwave slipped from my hands and shattered on the kitchen floor. By the time I quarantined the cat and cleaned up the billions of tiny glass shards, my coffee was burnt. It was the tiny little push I needed and I lost it. I called my mom, sobbing about how I hated this God forsaken apartment and the winter and my job and my lack of money and my hopeless, hapless path toward a nebulous future. I kept trying to calm myself down in every way I knew how and everything seemed to slip just out of my reach… literally.
When I woke up this morning I had no hot water again. I hadn’t taken a shower since Saturday night and I couldn’t imagine going into work the snotty, smelly mess that I was. I cried a little because I felt I was allowed, shampooed my hair under the icy faucet, and donned an old cardigan before slumping off to work.
And then I saw this picture. And my knitted brow relaxed. And I felt better.
picture care of garance dore