Rough week

On Monday, it rained in my bedroom. My neighbors stole my firewood. On Tuesday, I got mosquito bites in my living room. On Wednesday, somebody broke into my car. Halfway to the metro, I realized I looked rather ridiculous in my new dress. I found myself with a $105 charge on my card for three pitchers of beer. Even the Thriller dance left me a little achy and shaky. (I don't normally do the whole shuffle, back, hop, hop, down.)

Things didn't go quite as planned for the week, and then work got a little nutty with reporting the end of one fiscal year, the start of another and some random, timeless work. For much of the week, I wanted to crawl under my desk and cry. For most of the week, I resisted the urge, and then something else would happen. Another deadline. Another problem with my apartment. My credit card. My upcoming trips. Something.

And then came Thursday night.

"I have to leave," I announced rather suddenly, pushing away from the desk.

"Have fun," sighed my officemate, pushing hair off her forehead, and delving back into our spreadsheet.

In my ridiculous dress, I walked a few blocks east, holding the dress down and regretting my choice in outfits for the 63rd time since eight that morning. Strange music brought me out of my reverie and I realized it was my phone. I'd never really heard it ring. "I'm about a half block away."

A little waiting, a little talking and a little driving through rush hour later, we found ourselves at the curb of a domestic violence shelter, preparing to read to a group of kids. By the time we left, three books, one snack and a half dozen drawings later, I had completely forgotten about my car, my apartment, my job and my woes.

My worst day, my worst week, had nothing on what those kids have seen yet they made me feel better. They soothed my jangled nerves. They made me smile.

One can't be unhappy with a wide-eyed toddler in her lap, reading a book about dreams, with stickers stuck to the back of her hands ("stop" and "two way driving"), with marker on the inside of her wrist and thoughts of the next session, the one after that and the one after that in her mind.


Tag: Volunteering