At some point it will all be okay. Maybe not at the same time. That would be a miracle, like an Oprah sized dream. Like a winning lottery ticket or the perfect boyfriend. Impossible. I don’t really want the headache of success. If I won the lottery, all my distant cousins would be calling me for money and if I found the perfect boyfriend, he would probably be to cute or worse cuter than me and I would have to resist the urge to punch him in his face.
Okay is good. Sometimes it’s better than good. Sometimes it’s the best thing in the world, like ten minutes alone with my thoughts.