Another Day in the Life

Rock, smooth, fun, unique, emotional, groovy, woman’s ecoustics

My red Toyota Matrix looked like nobody loved it. Crumbs and pizza sauce crusted the upholstery in the backseat. Evidence from an attempt to have quality time with my kids: it was quality time, not quantity time. The fossilized remains of pizza crusts lay abandoned on my floormat with the dried mud, in the back, and my passenger seat was repurposed into a purgatory for Monster cans, my favorite energy drink. The windows were decorated with smeared fingerprints that were supposed to be “cave paintings.” This artwork was a reminder of why I did what I did every day. 
“You could do what I am doing. According to Darwin’s theory of evolution, all creatures can adapt to their environment. I have a cat who cannot hunt, but he opens doors. He knows where the easy food is.” I said into my cellphone. 
I could almost hear the click of my front door, and that stupid, black fur ball marching in the house like he owned it. That cat looked smug, and I hated that. 
Michael laughed, and it bubbled out of him like a joyful brook. His laugh matched his personality. I could picture his azure eyes: they sparkled, and they crinkled in the corners. Talking to Michael felt like a gentle breeze by the ocean. He felt peaceful; he felt safe. 
When was the last time that I had truly laughed-like really laughed? It felt like a long time. 
“I’m not sure if I could?” he continued. "Being a single mom makes you superhuman! That job alone is impossible, and, on top of that, you are in full time school, work part time, and carpool kids; also, don’t forget Jacob: he has special needs!” 
How can he say that? 
Michael was an emergency room doctor. He was a modern-day superhero, but instead of a cape he wore a white coat. 
It felt good to be appreciated, but it was hard to believe that what I did was so spectacular. I was a poor, 33-year-old college student, still in my first year. 
Not a lot of people had faith in me. 
“Well, I have an hour drive home still, and kids to put to bed.” I paused. “If I stay parked here at the college any later, somebody is going to call security.” I was trying to be funny, but it wasn’t. 
Michael humored me with a small chuckle. “Any time Sarah. You got this.” 
He was always so optimistic, but I was less so. 
“Thanks Michael, I appreciate that. Have a good night.” And with that, I hung up the phone.

2349/7500

My red Toyota Matrix looked like nobody loved it. Crumbs and pizza sauce crusted the upholstery in the backseat. Evidence from an attempt to have quality time with my kids: it was quality time, not quantity time. The fossilized remains of pizza crusts lay abandoned on my floormat with the dried mud, in the back, and my passenger seat was repurposed into a purgatory for Monster cans, my favorite energy drink. The windows were decorated with smeared fingerprints that were supposed to be “cave paintings.” This artwork was a reminder of why I did what I did every day. “You could do what I am doing. According to Darwin’s theory of evolution, all creatures can adapt to their environment. I have a cat who cannot hunt, but he opens doors. He knows where the easy food is.” I said into my cellphone. I could almost hear the click of my front door, and that stupid, black fur ball marching in the house like he owned it. That cat looked smug, and I hated that. Michael laughed, and it bubbled out of him like a joyful brook. His laugh matched his personality. I could picture his azure eyes: they sparkled, and they crinkled in the corners. Talking to Michael felt like a gentle breeze by the ocean. He felt peaceful; he felt safe. When was the last time that I had truly laughed-like really laughed? It felt like a long time. “I’m not sure if I could?” he continued. "Being a single mom makes you superhuman! That job alone is impossible, and, on top of that, you are in full time school, work part time, and carpool kids; also, don’t forget Jacob: he has special needs!” How can he say that? Michael was an emergency room doctor. He was a modern-day superhero, but instead of a cape he wore a white coat. It felt good to be appreciated, but it was hard to believe that what I did was so spectacular. I was a poor, 33-year-old college student, still in my first year. Not a lot of people had faith in me. “Well, I have an hour drive home still, and kids to put to bed.” I paused. “If I stay parked here at the college any later, somebody is going to call security.” I was trying to be funny, but it wasn’t. Michael humored me with a small chuckle. “Any time Sarah. You got this.” He was always so optimistic, but I was less so. “Thanks Michael, I appreciate that. Have a good night.” And with that, I hung up the phone.

0/500