A Brown Bag Embrace

If you were to line today up side-by-side with most of the other days in my life, I'm pretty sure it would look battered and bruised with its hair all askew and have streaks of makeup running down its face and there would also probably be a little bit of shit in its pants and maybe even some pee, too.

I'll refrain from doling out too many specifics because I read somewhere that it's not a great idea to put work-related things on a personal website (oh hey there, Heather Armstrong), but for lack of better words, my job today was a sweaty hike up Oh Fuck Mountain. In spite of all of my attempts to calm myself down on the train ride home, I was still feeling like dirt and garbage when I summited the steps of my house to find an envelope waiting for me on the table where we keep the mail. Inside of that envelope was a brown paper bag containing a note...from my mom.

This is the third brown bag note that's found its way to my mailbox since my mom passed away last year. Apparently before she got so sick that she couldn't use her hands anymore my mom, with the help of her bestie Colleen, wrote my siblings and I a bunch of brown bag notes just like the ones she used to put in our lunches when we were kids and then asked Colleen to mail them to us when she thought we could use a pick-me-up. I mostly just felt sad when the first two brown bag notes arrived because they made me re-miss my mom so much. But this one, the brown bag lunch note that I got today, felt like a full-body hug, like my mom and fate and the United States Postal Service got together and were like, "On February 1st Corey's gonna spend nine hours chewing on thumbtacks and wet turds, let's douse him in champaign and force-feed him a twenty-piece chicken McNugget when he walks in the door to make him feel better." And it totally worked. Not only did this awful day fall completely off my shoulders, I even started to believe that next time I feel like I wanna Hulk Smash myself in the groin, I should do what my mom would've done and find some beauty in the mother-fucking detour. So thank you, momma (and Colleen). I'll do my best.