I spent 25 minutes on hold to Blue Cross today before terminating the call without getting through to anyone.  By that time, I had driven 3/4 of the way from the Independence Courthouse to my main office in Westport.  I realized that I wouldn’t be able to have a meaningful conversation hands-free because I wouldn’t be able to reference the paperwork on the seat beside me anyway.  I felt my stomach sour.

I parked and gathered all my files and walked into the office building.  Someone opened the door for me and someone else asked if I wanted them to hold the elevator.  I waved and smiled, shaking my head and gesturing towards my first-floor office suite.

Then I entered the door of Suite 100 and my secretary Miranda beamed at me from the interior of the suite, asking how my party had gone, telling me she saw the picture of my new sweater, asking if I needed help.

By the time I sat down at my desk with a hot cup of coffee, I realized that tension had eased from the back of my neck.  The coil of rawness had unleashed its grip that sore spot in my lower back where the Tarlov cysts straddle the degenerated discs.  My mood had made a complete 180, and all it took was three little selfless acts from three different persons, two of whom I don’t even know.

Ain’t life grand?

It’s the ninth day of the thirty-seventh month of My Year Without Complaining.  Life continues.

“Like Barley Bending”, by Sara Teasdale