In light of my recent state of mind and in regards to my current feelings about nursing, I've been humbly, lovingly reminded that I've forgotten to consider the most important factor in all of this. God. God is bigger than my feelings and is bigger than these people. I know I'm supposed to be here and, thank you Tara, he'll see me through. He has before, he will again. It is a frightening place without that knowledge, something temporarily forgotten in myself yesterday. Temporary and passing.
Today is extremely windy! My friend Tanya used to always say that Iowa is the windiest state in the U.S. and I think I might actually believe her without visiting every state in the U.S. to test this theory. I believe. We have 65 mile per hour gusts here today with blue skies and branches and corn stalks blowing through the air. It looks like a tornado in the sun. Big branches have fallen in our back yard and the wind is howling outside our windows. Someone's closet door is lying in our driveway. Hmmmm....It reminds me how glad I am to have this house to live in. What if I had to be outside today? And it's colddddd......Olivia said to me, "I just was not expecting this wind today!" As if she'd already considered what type of weather we'd have today and reality had dashed her hopes. I laughed and agreed. I hadn't expected it either.
Last night, Sophie and Olivia spent the night at Bam and Darrell's house. They did lots of fun things like painting, walking, playgrounding, playing blocks, making apple crisp, etc. I'm sorry I missed out, really, but Steve and I got some quality time at Menards. This is our fun thing to do. Visit Menards. We did it up right too. Four hours total, planning and trying to implement our plans for our bathroom with what we had tossed in our cart. I think we had too many thoughts and too few actual plans, but we did leave with enough materials (we think) for Steve to redo our bathroom floor this week. He had vacation time that expires with the new year and what better thing to do than to upgrade a bathroom? We did have fun though, but were exhausted when we finally got home. I was anyway. Steve was still rip roaring ready to go fill the truck up with mulch for the backyard. I already was in sweatpants on the couch with my wine cooler and some snacks. No peeling me away from that. He sadly went alone to pick up the mulch, but when he got home, we went to a movie. Eagle Eye. It was pretty fun to watch!
We picked up the kids this morning and went to church and out to eat with Mom and Darrell, Dan, Amy, Hannah, Lianna, Shawn, and the Clark family. It was a great day for indoor activity, complete with a long nap in Sophie's bed, laundry, and later...UNO...our favorite game. Next, I'll be working on granting Sophie's wish for being a scary tree for Halloween. I'm at a loss since I don't know how to sew, but determined not to let her down. So here we go.....
Have a great night!
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Boo hoo
In light of me not wanting to become the eternal whiner, may I just say that I think I've finally hit the wall that we were told of in nursing school? It goes like this, you receive your license, never been more ecstatic, excited to practice nursing and you realize you are on your own! You make decisions you never thought you'd have to make and you do things so cool, you'd never thought you'd get the chance to do them, you help people change, you save someone's life, you feel like you make a real difference, you realize you are free, independent, on your own...
Then you realize that you are free, independent, on your own.... You realize that you don't get to see the positive outcomes or the happy endings, only the person in the midst of their need, in their lowest of lows, in their most vulnerable state. Shouldn't this be a blessing? Shouldn't I feel privileged to be there in that time? After all, that's why I did this anyway, wondering if there could be anything greater for me to do in my life than to be there for someone in their time of greatest need. Then, suddenly, people are mean, very rude, unbearably awful to you when you try to help. With your nicest voice and genuine concern you ask if they are having any pain only to have something thrown at you or thrown up at you, or a nasty comment, no comment at all, whatever. And for all that you do, and all that you are punished for not doing, you wonder, I wonder, why am I doing this? Does this make a difference at all? Why does nursing make it impossible to do a good job? If you focus on what is important, (the patient), and do what you should for them, you have done a good job. But wait, you also need to chart on 500 different pieces of paper in 500 different ways what you did and what you said and when you did it and how you said it and the patient's response and the doctor's orders and this and that and this...only for the purpose of covering your hospital's butt, if it has one, and if you do all this paperwork that you need to do to cover someone's ass that you've never met you've neglected your patient, the very purpose that gave you a purpose in the first place. How is it that we can do a good job then? Believe me when I say that 12 hours in a shift is not enough. People ask if the shifts get long. No, it doesn't. I am frantic at 6 pm, wishing for 3 more hours, knowing I'll apologize to the next shift for things left undone, all while knowing that I did my very best and I am run ragged. I leave defeated, unworthy, and I can't feel my legs.
Will the smokers quit smoking? No. Will they keep having heart attacks? Yes. Do they give a flying crap what you say? No. Are they angry that you don't give them the answer that they want? Yes. Will anyone be nice to the nurse?
I've got to get back to the place that I started....too excited for my own good. Ready for anything, unhurt by awful things that happen, unphased by the lack of accomplishment that lies ahead. I've got to get back there to this honeymoon phase they told us about before graduation...the phase that precedes the worst phase of all, burnout. Here I am burnout. I don't want to go anymore. I don't want to show up on Monday and I certainly don't want to be yelled at anymore. What difference do we make anyhow? I'm dying for a desk job, data entry possibly, stuff is concrete, on paper, into the computer, nothing is wrong, nothing is questionable, your work is measured by what you do, how much you do. It's concrete, predictable, people need it done. People want it done. Poor me. Boo hoo. Pity party here. Fully aware of it, no judgment needed on this. I'll snap out of it soon. Here's me being aware of what state I'm in and hoping for a brighter tomorrow.
I know how this sounds, pathetic, whiny, annoying, etc. For all the prayers and hopes and dreams I had to become a nurse, to disrespect this profession because it's hard? Grow up, Mel. Well, to be therapeutic, sometimes I must be honest with myself. This blog is my honesty. It is written for myself today in honor of my own pity party. I'm tired of waking up sweating after a dream I had about something I forgot to do at work. I just want to dream about something awesome, like a potluck at church. That's awesome. I just want to feel like I did a good job at something. I want to sleep through the night. I want to awake refreshed. I want to feel like I did something right.
When you are old or sick or hurt, love your nurses. Most of them love you. They want to help you. They want you to feel better. That's why we are here. What gives people the justification in their hearts to treat others so badly? I didn't want to become imbittered and calloused. How can you not? Just for your own protection?
Our class was told that these stages exist. We were given tools to survive the burnout. We were told the first six months are the hardest. Give it six months and you'll feel better. My whole life I've blown through stages, always ready for the next one before I should be...not always in a good way and not because I'm awesome. Simply because I've always wanted to push forward and get to the next step, horribly lacking in delayed gratification my mom tells me. She loves me nonetheless. Perhaps I will blow through this one too, not wanting to wallow in this miserableness for one more second than I have to, and rearrive in the place of nursing happiness, able to separate myself from mean people's words, able to go home thinking about home and not work, able to sleep soundly in my bed without moving to the couch or waking up in fear, able to clock in without a pit in my stomach and a knot in my throat, able to laugh when my patient is ridiculous, able to brush it off when I've failed. Let me blow through this stage like I've always wanted to do and get back to where I started (excited for the possibilities). I'd like to stay in that stage a while longer.
Then you realize that you are free, independent, on your own.... You realize that you don't get to see the positive outcomes or the happy endings, only the person in the midst of their need, in their lowest of lows, in their most vulnerable state. Shouldn't this be a blessing? Shouldn't I feel privileged to be there in that time? After all, that's why I did this anyway, wondering if there could be anything greater for me to do in my life than to be there for someone in their time of greatest need. Then, suddenly, people are mean, very rude, unbearably awful to you when you try to help. With your nicest voice and genuine concern you ask if they are having any pain only to have something thrown at you or thrown up at you, or a nasty comment, no comment at all, whatever. And for all that you do, and all that you are punished for not doing, you wonder, I wonder, why am I doing this? Does this make a difference at all? Why does nursing make it impossible to do a good job? If you focus on what is important, (the patient), and do what you should for them, you have done a good job. But wait, you also need to chart on 500 different pieces of paper in 500 different ways what you did and what you said and when you did it and how you said it and the patient's response and the doctor's orders and this and that and this...only for the purpose of covering your hospital's butt, if it has one, and if you do all this paperwork that you need to do to cover someone's ass that you've never met you've neglected your patient, the very purpose that gave you a purpose in the first place. How is it that we can do a good job then? Believe me when I say that 12 hours in a shift is not enough. People ask if the shifts get long. No, it doesn't. I am frantic at 6 pm, wishing for 3 more hours, knowing I'll apologize to the next shift for things left undone, all while knowing that I did my very best and I am run ragged. I leave defeated, unworthy, and I can't feel my legs.
Will the smokers quit smoking? No. Will they keep having heart attacks? Yes. Do they give a flying crap what you say? No. Are they angry that you don't give them the answer that they want? Yes. Will anyone be nice to the nurse?
I've got to get back to the place that I started....too excited for my own good. Ready for anything, unhurt by awful things that happen, unphased by the lack of accomplishment that lies ahead. I've got to get back there to this honeymoon phase they told us about before graduation...the phase that precedes the worst phase of all, burnout. Here I am burnout. I don't want to go anymore. I don't want to show up on Monday and I certainly don't want to be yelled at anymore. What difference do we make anyhow? I'm dying for a desk job, data entry possibly, stuff is concrete, on paper, into the computer, nothing is wrong, nothing is questionable, your work is measured by what you do, how much you do. It's concrete, predictable, people need it done. People want it done. Poor me. Boo hoo. Pity party here. Fully aware of it, no judgment needed on this. I'll snap out of it soon. Here's me being aware of what state I'm in and hoping for a brighter tomorrow.
I know how this sounds, pathetic, whiny, annoying, etc. For all the prayers and hopes and dreams I had to become a nurse, to disrespect this profession because it's hard? Grow up, Mel. Well, to be therapeutic, sometimes I must be honest with myself. This blog is my honesty. It is written for myself today in honor of my own pity party. I'm tired of waking up sweating after a dream I had about something I forgot to do at work. I just want to dream about something awesome, like a potluck at church. That's awesome. I just want to feel like I did a good job at something. I want to sleep through the night. I want to awake refreshed. I want to feel like I did something right.
When you are old or sick or hurt, love your nurses. Most of them love you. They want to help you. They want you to feel better. That's why we are here. What gives people the justification in their hearts to treat others so badly? I didn't want to become imbittered and calloused. How can you not? Just for your own protection?
Our class was told that these stages exist. We were given tools to survive the burnout. We were told the first six months are the hardest. Give it six months and you'll feel better. My whole life I've blown through stages, always ready for the next one before I should be...not always in a good way and not because I'm awesome. Simply because I've always wanted to push forward and get to the next step, horribly lacking in delayed gratification my mom tells me. She loves me nonetheless. Perhaps I will blow through this one too, not wanting to wallow in this miserableness for one more second than I have to, and rearrive in the place of nursing happiness, able to separate myself from mean people's words, able to go home thinking about home and not work, able to sleep soundly in my bed without moving to the couch or waking up in fear, able to clock in without a pit in my stomach and a knot in my throat, able to laugh when my patient is ridiculous, able to brush it off when I've failed. Let me blow through this stage like I've always wanted to do and get back to where I started (excited for the possibilities). I'd like to stay in that stage a while longer.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Out with the old....
and no longer useful no matter how old.....today is a rainy cold day perfect for organizing and rummaging, and filing, and recycling. Old curtains from when we moved in, tableclothes long shrunken and faded in the dryer, STACKS of papers from nursing school that I'll never use, or want to use, again. A stack that has been growing, intended for Goodwill. Reluctantly choosing only my favorite artwork from each stage of my girls' arthood, recycling the anatomy workbooks and lab manuals, tossing the nursing cds from the back of the text books, which I can't sell on half.com anyway. I neatly folded remnants of countless packages of tissue paper from gifts hastily bought on the way to the party, no matter how much I had of it at home, now all placed in a bag with recycled gift bags, ready for the next gift. Paystubs and physicals, immunization records, pictures, games stacked neatly on the shelf, $30 in checks I haven't cashed yet, and a $20 gift card to Target scored from a pile of unpaid bills, diamond in the rough. $5 in an old book bag and an unopened Women's Health magazine. What could be better?A neat, organized home? Although my achievement should feel greater, it doesn't. This was only our office. On to bigger, and better things....like the laundry pile.
Happy fall!
Happy fall!
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
A tribute to Zoey
Yesterday, the best cat in the world entered kitty heaven. I know he is in heaven, because he has been angelic from the start. He was the gift of my dreams following my baptism at 12 years old. The only thing I wanted was a pure white kitten, to which my mom took seriously, this request, and looked all over to find an all white kitten. "Is the kitten ALL white?" my mom would say on the phone. "It maybe has a yellow spot on his belly? Well that won't do". Maybe it didn't go exactly like that, but she did in fact deliver the perfect, perfectly white, long-haired kitten.
At first, we believed that my little kitten was a girl and so I named her Zoey Lynn (the middle name after myself) Powers. This little kitten would hide in our basement in Pomeroy until she either heard the food bag rustle or until I stood at the top of the stairs and screeched in a very high pitched voice, "Zoey Lyyyyynnnnnnnnnn!" And the kitty came running, pouncing up each stair and slipping on some but always up as quickly as possible to me, open arms and waiting at the top of the stairs. This kitten did not meow like normal kitties. Instead she said, mmmmmMMMMMM? She was the best kitten ever. A she? Oops, a he...we soon found out that we were indeed wrong on the sex of this cat, not that it mattered, but we altered his name to fit his gender, now lovingly named Zoey Leon Powers.
This was a kitten that could not harm a fly, literally. He'd catch them, then let them go. When two fish joined our family, Lewis & Roland, I found Zoey sitting sadly by their bowl of spilled water and their tiny lifeless fish bodies on my carpet. Did Zoey eat them? No. He simply wanted to play with them. He was devastated that they were gone and he waited there, next to them, to let me know how sorry he was...and he was immediately forgiven.
Zoey Leon grew bigger and bigger and BIGGER and BIGGER until he was the biggest cat ever, I think. He loved to eat. Eventually, we had to put him on some what of a diet, to which he lost some of his poundage but not all. He was a very majestic cat and he knew it. He'd perch up on top of the couch or chair and rule over the lower lands.
When Steve was so allergic to him that he couldn't breathe any longer, I gave up Zoey and he became a community cat. He lived with Mom and eventually, Lianna and Shawn and their dog Lucy. Lucy and Zoey were buddies and fought and picked on each other, lovingly of course. The Cornally's put him on a real diet and he lost all of his overweightness and turned into quite the skinny little kitty, but always beautiful...long white hair blowing in the breeze. He had a very happy life, loved by all, especially me....well everyone loved him deeply. When he stretched his paws out wide and made himself long, he measured nearly 4 feet I'm sure. Adorable fuzzy belly. Zoey understood some English too. Like, "do you want to be brushed?" To which he'd replied with excited purrs and perts and leg rub-bys. Smart kitty.
This will end this tribute to the best cat in the world....pretty Zoey Leon Powers, the community/family kitty. I'll always be grateful to Lianna and Shawn, Mom and Dad, who adopted him and loved him just as much as me. We miss him already.
Monday, October 13, 2008
The next number
Monday has arrived and so has cooler weather. Feeding Rosie in my normal attire: Steve's shorts and a t-shirt, slippers and hair standing up on one side of my head made me a little cold this morning. I'd thought it'd be safe to slip something in the mailbox by the road, but just as I turned my back to raise the little flag on the side of the box, I hear honking and turn around, deer in headlights look, to see my neighbor from down the street saying hello and waving frantically out her window. Great. Some things are inescapable.
We returned home yesterday from a trip to the Minneapolis area. The trip was gorgeous. The leaves have changed up there and the drive was phenomenal. Well, minus the fact that our DVD player didn't work and the girls were less than pleased on the way home, but we made it...forced to eat at a sub-prime Taco Bell/KFC, which always leaves me squeamish. The girls must have been too happy there because they laughed at each other non stop, so much so that the older couple in the booth behind us, moved to another table across the restaurant from us. Geez. I thought laughing was acceptable. Wouldn't incessant crying be worse? We must have interrupted their date at a roadside Taco Bell/KFC, where they came for a romantic dinner. Maybe they moved because Sophie pointed out the old tomato chunk in the window sill and picked it up to show us. Was that too gross? Had we gone too far?
Despite the restaurant experience, we made it up to Steve's sister's house where we celebrated little Aylee's 1st bday. There were lots of kids there...to my surprise, ours were some of the oldest. We had fun and the food was great, which it always is, especially when Steve's dad, Larry, is there. Homemade ice cream and their awesome chocolate cake put a stick in my diet spokes, but it was only one weekend, well, maybe two weekends since I suggested that they also not be afraid to bring the homemade cake to Sophie's birthday party as well. I would not protest.
I'm excited for Sophie's birthday party this year, for her to get her next number as she calls it. Four years old. This makes me stop and think where I've been the last 3 years. Last I knew I had a toddler and a baby...now both nearing adulthood it seems...well maybe childhood, but still. Remember Fosie? Our tiny, scratch that...chunky funny baby with wild curly hair and seventeen rolls on each thigh? The child that could not be sad, the happiest baby on earth, and the cutest for that matter. I remember how she'd crawl across the hard wood floor as fast as she could, head down, barreling through. Then she'd stop at your feet and raise up her head and GRIN!!! Big blue eyes and all. Now this little baby towers over the real little babies now, bigger than any of them, tall and getting leaner all the time, transforming when I wasn't looking, ready for her next number. Her self proclaimed self improvements upon getting this new number include no pull ups at bedtime and no training wheels on her bike. Noble causes, really. I'm excited to celebrate this next number of my little Fosester Gracer, Sopapilla, GGpop Clark. Poor thing. Has more nicknames than anyone should.
Big girl
We returned home yesterday from a trip to the Minneapolis area. The trip was gorgeous. The leaves have changed up there and the drive was phenomenal. Well, minus the fact that our DVD player didn't work and the girls were less than pleased on the way home, but we made it...forced to eat at a sub-prime Taco Bell/KFC, which always leaves me squeamish. The girls must have been too happy there because they laughed at each other non stop, so much so that the older couple in the booth behind us, moved to another table across the restaurant from us. Geez. I thought laughing was acceptable. Wouldn't incessant crying be worse? We must have interrupted their date at a roadside Taco Bell/KFC, where they came for a romantic dinner. Maybe they moved because Sophie pointed out the old tomato chunk in the window sill and picked it up to show us. Was that too gross? Had we gone too far?
Despite the restaurant experience, we made it up to Steve's sister's house where we celebrated little Aylee's 1st bday. There were lots of kids there...to my surprise, ours were some of the oldest. We had fun and the food was great, which it always is, especially when Steve's dad, Larry, is there. Homemade ice cream and their awesome chocolate cake put a stick in my diet spokes, but it was only one weekend, well, maybe two weekends since I suggested that they also not be afraid to bring the homemade cake to Sophie's birthday party as well. I would not protest.
I'm excited for Sophie's birthday party this year, for her to get her next number as she calls it. Four years old. This makes me stop and think where I've been the last 3 years. Last I knew I had a toddler and a baby...now both nearing adulthood it seems...well maybe childhood, but still. Remember Fosie? Our tiny, scratch that...chunky funny baby with wild curly hair and seventeen rolls on each thigh? The child that could not be sad, the happiest baby on earth, and the cutest for that matter. I remember how she'd crawl across the hard wood floor as fast as she could, head down, barreling through. Then she'd stop at your feet and raise up her head and GRIN!!! Big blue eyes and all. Now this little baby towers over the real little babies now, bigger than any of them, tall and getting leaner all the time, transforming when I wasn't looking, ready for her next number. Her self proclaimed self improvements upon getting this new number include no pull ups at bedtime and no training wheels on her bike. Noble causes, really. I'm excited to celebrate this next number of my little Fosester Gracer, Sopapilla, GGpop Clark. Poor thing. Has more nicknames than anyone should.
Big girl
Friday, October 3, 2008
When you weren't watching
Well, I successfully completed three 12 hr nights at work in a row. I expected them to be as miserable as my whole entire preceptorship of nights, but it was surprisingly good. I mean, the second night was pretty painful around 5:30 am when two more hours sounded like pure torture. But the third night, I was wide awake until 8 am! It was amazing that my body adjusted like that, in three days, but just a tiny bit discouraging that it adjusted on the last night I had to work. Then last night, there I was at 1:30 am on my couch wondering if I would ever go to bed. Nothing a little Benedryl won't fix. That's good nursing for you.
Nights are also much quieter at the hospital. I like that I'm just the right amount of busy. I have time to chart my stuff and I have time to take good care of my patients. If it weren't for the whole time thing, I'd work nights for life. I really thought I'd NEVER say that, but I just did, and I mean it.
I've been reading through my blog this a.m., realizing that I've become a scrapbooking, activity creating, carpooling mom, minus minivan (which actually sounds like a really nice thing to own right now). Still difficult to swallow when I take this step back to realize that I have indeed arrived in motherhood, until now unknowingly changed...not only changed, but apparently totally enjoying it....planning my picnics and outings with the kiddos, getting excited about good sales on kids clothes at Target, clipping coupons, and enjoying the smell of Tide (which I can now afford instead of the Purex powder...we've moved up in the world), and priding myself in well thought out meals. I've officially jumped in both feet into a world I thought I'd never fit into to, but here I am. Here I am in the evenings flipping through flashcards with Olivia and signing permission slips, writing out checks and supporting the local football team, to which my brother calls me a townie. :) He keeps me in check. Although I don't mind it much, supporting the team. I've got a really nice pair of black sweatpants now. Do you? I'm cracking up at the recent Book-It note sent home with Olivia. Will she also work hard to earn her personal pan pizza??? Like mother like daughter, I'm SURE she will.
Scary isn't it? When you step back and realize you are nothing that you ever thought you would be? But it doesn't matter, because you clearly enjoy it and now can officially laugh at yourself and your changed-unbeknownst-to-you self. I remember thinking as a teenager that I would NEVER let myself go and would always make sure to buy the latest fashions. I would always be the cool mom, driving the nice car and wearing nice clothes. But this morning, in my gray oversized sweatshirt AND a pair of also gray sweatpant capris, I sent Olivia out to the bus without me, not wanting to embarrass her from our driveway in my obviously let go self......that's ok though. I'll probably shower later and put on something cute. Besides, does it really matter what I'm wearing? Raise your coffee cup to this. So here's to living in the station you've arrived at and enjoying it, because I do. I'll just smile about it. It's ridiculously NOT what I expected to be, but thankful of regardless.
I'm off to enjoy my Tide scented laundry room and my cup of coffee in my slippers....knowing that my first real paycheck was deposited in the early hours of this morning into my bank account. I have arrived.
"Happiness is not a station in which to arrive at, but a manner of traveling."
Nights are also much quieter at the hospital. I like that I'm just the right amount of busy. I have time to chart my stuff and I have time to take good care of my patients. If it weren't for the whole time thing, I'd work nights for life. I really thought I'd NEVER say that, but I just did, and I mean it.
I've been reading through my blog this a.m., realizing that I've become a scrapbooking, activity creating, carpooling mom, minus minivan (which actually sounds like a really nice thing to own right now). Still difficult to swallow when I take this step back to realize that I have indeed arrived in motherhood, until now unknowingly changed...not only changed, but apparently totally enjoying it....planning my picnics and outings with the kiddos, getting excited about good sales on kids clothes at Target, clipping coupons, and enjoying the smell of Tide (which I can now afford instead of the Purex powder...we've moved up in the world), and priding myself in well thought out meals. I've officially jumped in both feet into a world I thought I'd never fit into to, but here I am. Here I am in the evenings flipping through flashcards with Olivia and signing permission slips, writing out checks and supporting the local football team, to which my brother calls me a townie. :) He keeps me in check. Although I don't mind it much, supporting the team. I've got a really nice pair of black sweatpants now. Do you? I'm cracking up at the recent Book-It note sent home with Olivia. Will she also work hard to earn her personal pan pizza??? Like mother like daughter, I'm SURE she will.
Scary isn't it? When you step back and realize you are nothing that you ever thought you would be? But it doesn't matter, because you clearly enjoy it and now can officially laugh at yourself and your changed-unbeknownst-to-you self. I remember thinking as a teenager that I would NEVER let myself go and would always make sure to buy the latest fashions. I would always be the cool mom, driving the nice car and wearing nice clothes. But this morning, in my gray oversized sweatshirt AND a pair of also gray sweatpant capris, I sent Olivia out to the bus without me, not wanting to embarrass her from our driveway in my obviously let go self......that's ok though. I'll probably shower later and put on something cute. Besides, does it really matter what I'm wearing? Raise your coffee cup to this. So here's to living in the station you've arrived at and enjoying it, because I do. I'll just smile about it. It's ridiculously NOT what I expected to be, but thankful of regardless.
I'm off to enjoy my Tide scented laundry room and my cup of coffee in my slippers....knowing that my first real paycheck was deposited in the early hours of this morning into my bank account. I have arrived.
"Happiness is not a station in which to arrive at, but a manner of traveling."
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