I am all about gratitude.  Every morning after I wake, I whisper “thank you” three times for getting the chance to live another day.   Yeah, probably should’ve mentioned that one to my hubby; the first couple of times I started doing that, he thought I was possessed.

I feel very fortunate.  Every day, I reflect on three things that I am grateful for.  Some of the reoccurring: healthy children, a loving marriage, a great career.  Some of the not so common: well-behaved children, a day that I didn’t think about murdering my husband, or a work day that I kept the f-bomb to a minimum.

I try and find beauty in people other than what we have been programmed to find attractive.  Kindness, confidence, and distinct characteristics (think long and pointy noses, freckles, and cowlicks) are way more attractive to me than rippling muscles, perfect hair or features.  Unless you have halitosis.  Ain’t nobody got time for that.

The things I hold dearest to my heart are also not the “norm”.  Friends who initiate get-togethers with me first (apparently, that is a thing), February thunderstorms (unless that lovely t-storm requires me to spend money to fix its fuck-up), the relationship between a girl and her Pinky (this one is truly, unadulterated perfection.  Unless Pinky is missing.  Then watch out world.)

I make wishes on everything: 11:11, upright pennies, shooting stars.  And I never wish for things beyond our means.  Another one I should probably let my husband in on: our family will never be wining the lottery.

But…. Ever have one of those days that you would very much like the chance, thank you very much, to tell it to go fuck itself?

I don’t know if it was the full Worm Moon and my hormones, or the fact that Prince Jesse had to sleep on my feet last night, but I was tossing and turning all night long. My alarm going off at 4:44 (again, my thing with numbers) came around very early.

My day started out well enough.  Except for the jackass that damn near T-boned me, coming out of his neighborhood down the street.   I added that near miss to the “grateful for” list, and kept on trucking.

I pulled into the parking lot at work, stepped out of the car, and attempted to adjust my work outfit before making the walk inside.  Only, my adorable, talented, laundry-inept husband had dried my khaki work pants, and I had not realized this wardrobe malfunction until I was at work.  Fucking great.

No worries.  I had a crazy hectic report to work on all day and I was going to be shutting my door and confining myself to my office anyway.  No one else, besides me, was going to be worrying about my workpants.

Come to find out… my pants were the least of my worries today.  I’m not going to go into specifics on my work day (bor-ring).  Only know that I dealt with one request to cover a counterpart (aka, another non-day off for me), one very irritating chain-of-command jumper, and one upper-upper level management ass-chewing in addition to my regular duties.

I might have squeezed a few tears out on my way home from work.  And then laid on my bed for a solid 15 minutes, crying like a baby.  One glass of wine and one blog post later….

Happy, fucking Friday to me.  Ah well, there’s always tomorrow.