I worked late last night, in a library that is forty minutes from my house (which is not ordinarily a long commute, but when you've got two children to care for....well, it can seem as if it takes forever to reach them), and I had to open this morning. Now this happens every week, but ordinarily I can handle it. I work enthusiastically, try to be productive, maintain patience even with the most difficult patrons.
Not today, though. Today I was in a mood. I just did not want to be here. I didn't want to work with people. I didn't want to teach a class. I longed for the weekend, to be at home, to be with my boys, to watch "All My Children," to sleep.
As strange as it sounds, being cranky felt so good. Very rarely do I take on the characteristics of a true grouch, and this time, when I did, I somehow managed to avoid allowing it to affect my customer service skills. Although several colleagues noticed my less-than-cheerful demeanor, I managed to keep it - for the most part - a secret.
And now the day is over. I survived my class, and the hours at the reference desk, and now I get to go home. And the mood will dissipate by tomorrow.
But oh, how good it felt today.
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