A Bad Day

This morning I took a cold shower before eating my least favorite breakfast of apple cinnamon pop-tarts. I rode the bus to work and noticed a stain on my suit. When I was getting off the bus, the latch on my brief case broke and all my papers fell out. When I got to work, my boss called me into his office to tell me he could not give me a Christmas bonus this year. The computer program I needed to enter data wouldn't work, so I had to find another computer to use. I ate lunch alone in the cafeteria. I spilled milk on my pants and had to go into the bathroom to clean it up as best as I could. When I went back to work, people kept interrupting me. I had to work late to make up for the time I lost. I missed the bus I planned to take and had to walk an extra half mile to catch another one. When I got home, I noticed that a hinge on my door was coming loose. I had to look up what bus would take me to the store so I could buy a screwdriver so I could fix the hinge on my door. After I got back from the store, I reheated leftovers for dinner, and tried to watch TV, but the reception from my antenna was bad and I could barely see the picture. After I finished eating, I decided to read a rather dry book about succeeding in an office instead. I had no pets to feed, no wife to talk to, and no children to play with. I had no hot water, limited options for entertainment, and my fridge was not fully stocked. I went to bed under a pile of blankets because I don't turn my heater on above 60 degrees. I fell asleep thinking about how I would wake up the next day and do this all over again. There was a smile on my face.

Two months ago, I had no shower, or any water, at all. I did not know what I was going to eat for breakfast each day, or if I would be able to eat at all. I had no money to pay for bus fair, and no job I would take the bus to. I carried all my belongings in a backpack, and business papers were not among them. I had no income, yet alone thoughts of a Christmas bonus. I owned no computer and barely even knew how to use one. Lunch was the same as breakfast: uncertain. I did not have the option of sitting in a peaceful, quite corner of a heated cafeteria, enjoying my hot lunch. I had no suit to get stained or to spill milk on. I had no co-workers to stop by and ask me how I was doing and offer to help. I did not have the option to stay late at the office, finishing up work and enjoying the warmth of the building. I did not have money to pay for any bus ride home, all I could do was wander for miles and miles, or try to find a warm place to sleep for the night. Most nights, I could find dinner at a soup kitchen, but there was no door of my own to fix, no TV of my own to watch, and no books to read. My bed was a box spring mattress with one blanket the nights I slept at the shelter, and a park bench with a blanket of newspapers the nights I did not. Every night, I went to bed with a frown and a tear, dreading to wake up the next day and do it all over again. Every day back then was a bad day. Today, on the other hand, was a very, very good day.