At 4:30 I told myself, Well I’ve been awake since 2, I might as well get up.

I let the dog out, admonishing her to be very very quiet.  I don’t want the new neighbor to call the SPCA.  When the kettle began to hum, I poured water over grounds and watched it worked its magic.  I set the Northwestern mug beside my tablet and started scrolling through the Times online.  I’d already heard about the latest gaffes from the one-two punch of Trump and Spicer, so I checked out Colbert & Friends to hear their take on presidential folly.

I watched Jimmy Kimmel’s touching tribute to his wife, the professionals at the Children’s Hospital of LA, and the NIH (not necessarily delivered in that order).  By the time I’d gotten through all that, I could hear birds joining me in wakefulness so I zipped over to Facebook to read what my good friends had to say about surviving another night.  Most seemed pleased, like Cindy Cieplik, whose thirty-day gratitude journey is in its third cycle.  Thank. Goodness.  Keep smiling, my friend.

Now the dog taps down the hallway, restless, hungry perhaps.  It’s almost time for my alarm to trill through the house.  By sheer number of wakeful hours, I can call breakfast “lunch” and have dinner at noon.  But I’m not complaining.  I know what caused me to awaken so early: a nagging worry that I have to address when I get to work.  Just after five, I thought of a creditable solution, easing my anxious heart just a tad.  I’m torn between catching forty winks and doing a load of laundry.

I’m tired, but I’m not complaining.  Yesterday a Jackson County deputy sheriff strode forward unbidden to open a door with which he’s seen me struggle on other occasions.  My heart was made glad.  I still carry the joy of his kindness.  Today holds challenges, but that golden nugget endures and will sustain me for a long long while.

It’s the second day of the forty-first month of My Year Without Complaining.  Life continues.