Today was one of those days when I got my house keys out at the subway turnstile instead of my metro pass. When I got my metro pass out at my office entrance instead of my work ID. When, instead of getting my house keys out upon finally trudging up the steps to my home late in the afternoon, I teared up a little bit. Just because everything felt a little harder than usual all day long.

Today I jammed the printer and couldn’t fix it myself. I had to be the dumb office lady who calls the young guys in the mailroom wailing like an idiotic damsel in distress: “I don’t know where the paper could have possibly gotten jammed – I’ve opened all the little side doors and checked all of the normal jam sites but my tiny female birdbrain just couldn’t figure it out and I need to be rescued by someone who understands machines and logic. Someone with a penis.”

It was one of those days when, the night before, I made a thorough, detailed To-Do List that compartmentalized Monday’s responsibilities into three neat columns: Work Tasks, Writing Tasks, and Personal Tasks. And I left that detailed list at home, probably because “Take To-Do List to Work” was somehow left off of the list of Personal Tasks.

All day I tried to visualize the list, sitting next to where my satchel sits, thinking that, perhaps, if I squinted hard enough I’d be able to read it in my mind’s eye. Not having it was paralyzing and reading it when I got home was like looking to the answer key to a crossword I gave up on. Of course! Birth control subscription! Call parents! Think of something special, creative, and original for Ben’s birthday! I could have gotten it all done if only I had known!

It was one of those days when I was so convinced that my email client was broken that I – yes, pathetically – sent an email from my work account to my personal account, just to make sure it would go through.

It went through. In seconds. It said, “Hello? I care about you? – Sarah.” I deleted it.

Luckily, though, it was also one of those days when Ben opened the door when I got home, all warm sweatshirt and cool aftershave, suggesting that we go to the gym to get the stress out and then eat a whole-wheat pizza, drink some wine, and watch some Monday Night Football. And implying, through such statements, that we all have days like this and it’s okay to tell these days to screw themselves by running three miles, drinking wine, eating pizza, and watching football.

Don’t worry, though – I made sure to put my to-do list in my satchel before I took a too-hot shower, slipped on my one-size-bigger jeans, and sipped my first glass of wine. Because tomorrow I will conquer the world. It’s on my list.

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