I’ve had a lumpy day.

I read that phrase somewhere, years ago.  I would credit its author if I could recall from where I stole the expression.  But original or not, it accurately describes how I feel.  So I’m here at the Mixx, a KC favorite for salads and sandwiches.  I have an order coming, for which I paid the upcharge to change the side from pasta salad or chips (standard) to kale veggie soup (sounds delish).  I’ve successfully logged into their wi-fi and I’m trying to figure out how to keep from complaining.

I gave that up, after all.

Today I called the Gas company to see if my (not late) payment which I made online “worked”.  I had not gotten a confirmation number so I figured an electronic glitch had occurred.  Of course, it took two rounds with an employee and a supervisor to confirm; and by the end of it, I was beside myself.  Utilities breed their employees at the same place that turnpike toll-takers live, I am sure of it.  They conspire to make even on-time payers feel small and worthless.  I barely resisted today, slamming the phone and calling the snippy supervisor a bad name though not with her on the line.  Golly gee whillikers, why on earth can’t they be human?  Oh, wait — am I complaining?  Just asking.

An attorney notified me late yesterday that her client is repudiating the mediated agreement for a case set to go to trial this Thursday.  Why  did she wait so long?  Am I being sandbagged or has she lost control of her client?  Either way, I found myself rapidly hammering out a Motion for Continuance while trying to remain cheerful, talking with my client, assuring him all was well.  I closed my door so no one would have to hear my failed attempts at calm.

Did I mention  my broken toe?  The doctor’s nurse ruefully said, I don’t suppose there’s any use in telling you to stay off of it, is there, Corley?  No.  There’s not.  They know me well.  I keep on hiking around, wincing, favoring that foot, wondering how people more disabled than I normally am manage without biting people’s heads off now and again.  Better folks than I am, Gunga Din.

You ask:  Is there a point to this. woman?  Or are you just angling for the sympathy vote, pretending not to complain but actually really letting the world have it!?!?

There is a point, and here it comes.

This morning I awakened to find a little message on my phone.  It said, I adore you, Ms. Corley — you are the Sunshine on my Facebook timeline!  This message came from someone whom I only know in the virtual world; a mutual friend connected us.  As far as I can tell, he’s happily partnered, solidly employed, a cheerful father and a prolific writer.  In other words, the compliment had no strings attached.  I messaged back to thank him, and asked what had prompted his note.  Came his reply:  Some things just need to be said.

This man reads my blog and has complimented my writing in the past.  I don’t get too many notes about my writing and I cherish each one of them.  I am a writer; writers write.  It’s what we do.  We work best when we can write, when the page fills with characters that string together to form our thoughts.  I don’t express myself well in oral conversation.  My writing holds the key to all of me.

So, as this rather long, lumpy days wanes, I look back on all of my efforts to be my best self; and all of my efforts to understand others undertaking similar quests.  When all is said, when all is done; when this day finally draws to a creaky close, whatever else I might say, I can make note that I’m the sunshine on someone’s Facebook page.

As silver linings go, that ain’t bad.