Messy weekend after-thoughts, a million intrusive questions from mum (there’s 10% of the time when I have no tolerance for gossip) and un-reasonable client demands (8 hospitals across 7 cities in 3 states, all in 3 days) made Sunday evening even more difficult to get by. I thought hitting the gym this morning would be a good idea, but I’m still as mentally exhausted as I was last evening.
Last evening ended well though, with a lot of positive conviction. In a queer way, what was right then, a year back, is right even now. And what I always considered wrong is fortunately still wrong. The bar hasn’t moved. I once wondered if it were ‘the right kind of wrong’. Still no.
By the way, here’s what I do when I look like shit run over twice: I buy a pretty purple hat.