When I got into work this morning, my landlord was fixing the sinks. I apologized, he apologized, we commiserated about how hard it is to be small business owners: property taxes, sidewalks, the whole thing.
He said “You seem so sweet, but my god you have a temper.” I said it was awful, I know.
He said he was excited for the chocolate shop, and sad to see me go, even though sometimes I’m a pain. And then he mopped my entire kitchen floor, and I gave him some bunnies and matzo toffee for his kids.
And now the festival of rage has drained from my body and all I want to do is hibernate until I’m a sane person again. Sometimes my rage feels like a twin who lives in my shadow, threatening to appear at any moment. She appears to be done for the day, leaving only pure exhaustion. My body has that light, endless feeling. This bout of rage was particularly painful, and I’m particularly happy it appears to be over.
But, the glory and guts of being a small business owner is that none of that matters.
Four hours until the PO closes.
Back to work.
Thanks for being so sweet in my time of need, blog friends.