Conditionally OK

It started the moment I woke up.

Well, not immediately.

I actually woke feeling optimistic — excited, even — about the day. A day I had blocked off and titled “MY DAY” in my calendar to separate it from all the others, the ones dictated by responsibilities and the mounting pressure of looming shoulds.

The main differentiator between this day and the rest is that I decided I’d only do what I wanted to do. I cleared this day of any lingering detritus and carved in its place neat boxes of time filled with things I love.

No chores. No exercising. No emails. No work I didn’t want to do.

Until I sat down to write and Kevin simultaneously spilled an entire mug of coffee all over the kitchen table — which was littered with stuff that, on its own, was a source of irritation. I begrudgingly sprang into action, catching the teeming waterfalls, soaking up the pools on the floor.

He ran back and forth across the kitchen, grabbing more paper towels while I wielded the ones he handed me until I finally g…