some days.

Sometimes, the whole of my day is begging for a good cry. I don't really know that's what going on for most of it. I go about my business busying myself with this and that and other things.

Conversations happen. People talk. I talk. People listen. I listen. I stir, busy myself, nap, stir some more.

These kinds of days, the cry-worthy ones, it's easiest to believe the worst about things. People aren't good. People disappoint. Hope leads to bad things. It's not something to foster. The snow is never going to end. I am in the wrong city. There are wrong decisions in life. I am making them. Stuff that's usually light weighs so much.

Dishes help. Taking a pan covered in muck. Letting it soak so the bubbles and water permeate the grease. Seeing the film begin to soften. Returning with intention. The sound of running water, the sound of the brush against the iron of a pan, the sight of suds growing, seeing their brightness break through the grime. Rinsing, watching the water run across a clean surface as the tears that have been needing to fall all day long finally do. Remembering that people are kind, snow melts, I am right where I should be, placing the dripping iron pan on the rack to dry.