I had a rough week.
Now, I realize that’s relative. I am healthy. I have a savings account. My family is okay. My dog feels better. I am loved. In the worldly way of things, I have nothing to complain about.
But some weeks are hard. This last one was really hard. The kind of hard where your Saturday night ends sitting cross-legged on your bed in a very pretty dress [purple tights and a French-braided bun, too] with your dog next to you, sobbing into the phone as one of your dearest friends sits on the other side of the country and can only say, “I’m so sorry. You’re being tested, that’s for sure.” The kind of hard where you look forward to Monday because at least it’s a new start.