You told me the world was going to end today, just like you did yesterday. You told me I said the wrong thing, made the wrong joke, said too much, said too little, acted too eager, acted too cold, should have taken a day off, that I take too many days off. I can’t remember what I did, but I remember you said it was wrong.

I’m sure you’ll do it again tomorrow. I’m sure I’ll get worried again. But I’m also sure things will be okay. They always are. You’re probably trying to help when you do this, but you’re pretty much always wrong and I’m going to listen to you less if I possibly can.

Maybe the quiet will make room for some hopeful thoughts. I’d like to have more of those. Excited thoughts about new friends I haven’t met yet, precious memories I’m sure to make, and amazing serendipitous adventures I can’t possibly predict. There are beautiful things hidden in the mist of the future too, not just the pitfalls you go on about.

Friendly reminder to you, my wonderful and patient reader: these thoughts come and go. You’re not alone, and we can try again tomorrow. Want to take a moment for a hopeful thought? I think I’m going to.