It's Hard to Believe but It's All Good

I woke up on this day off feeling sorry for myself. It happens, nobody's perfect. For hours I saw no way out of the doldrums.  It was as if all the fresh had been sucked out of the air.  Nothing could be done. Other than ordering a take out Turkish lunch special, that is, from Deniz Restaurant.  What is in that white rice to make it sooooooo dreamy? How soothing is their yogurt sauce poured over the smoky chunks of chicken, especially paired with the slightly sweet hot sauce condiment? Surely some added french fries could only help this blues situation ruminating in the noggin.  Slumping down into the loveseat with a big iced lemon seltzer, a dumb movie, and bed pillows, eventually, I was able to shut down my mind enough to just breathe.  For several moments I saw how wonderful it was to relax and enjoy the day alone in a clean apartment, with lit candles, no real problems, other than a weary soul.  

Thoughts come flooding in seconds later.  This time, trying to rationalize;  Some other girl in an apartment across town has everything, including a better job, loads of friends, amazing hair, cooler shoes and lots of money to travel.  But then there is a gal, down the road further feeling alone, perhaps without a job.  Her hair is the least of her concerns.  She's down and out, worried about money.  That girl is not able to call and get this special lunch delivered to her door.  There's so many girls in this city.  Another suffers from MS in Manhattan, and never complains about it.  There is another who takes care of her husband with Parkinson's while trying not to get killed by her son with schizophrenia.  We all know people less fortunate, with harder lives.  Suddenly I'm over wrought with guilt for conjuring unnecessary despair upon myself.   Why is the hardest thing to believe sometimes is that you're just fine?