I felt grumpy and dissatisfied all day today. I thought it was the Boyfriend I was dissatisfied with, because he was there, and that is often what girlfriends think. We drove home in near silence while I tried to convince myself to buck up and he tried to figure out why I wasn't talking. Back at my house I changed into pajamas and washed my face, hoping that would change my attitude. I blamed myself for feeling unhappy, because as I often remind myself, there is nothing for someone as privileged as myself to be grumpy about and it's so easy to decide to get in a better mood, that I always try to do that first. But this time it wasn't working.

I laid down next to him on my bed and talked about how sometimes when a person has an off day, they project this bad attitude which fills the people around them with the same feeling, so either they get grumpy too or they walk on eggshells to avoid a fight. Because I thought that was it.

He hugged me close and said it was all right, and he was glad I was talking to him because it scared him when I didn't. That's when I started crying. Because it wasn't this, this petty relationship stuff, that was driving out my crazies. It was big things, the world, the murders and beatings, the war that no one will end even though they can, the trees that are dying, the oceans that are dying, the hatred and the disease, the political figures all over the world who do not belong in power but will do anything to stay there and continue hurting people, the rich people who get richer, the poor people who get poorer, the bad things that happen to good people, as well as the good things that happen to bad people.

"I feel like everything is wrong," I said, starting to cry hard. "No one is changing it. Everything is messed up and no one is going to stop it. God, it hurts. No one wants to stop it."

I told him I've been distracting myself, even unconsciously, from all these horrible things that are happening, telling myself I'm just in a mood, changing the channel, anything, and it builds and builds and gets worse. As I was pressed to his chest and crying harder than I have in years, all these faces came up, women in cloths, babies, men in suits, and I was sad for them all, I was heartbroken for them all. I was shocked at myself. As talented as we have become at distancing ourselves from tragedy, we should be able to shake it off permanently. It just caught up with me.

"I love you," he said. Then he told me about good things that were happening in Africa, the UN including the dreaded Bush, forgiving billions of dollars of debt and starting programs for aid, more than anyone has done for Africa in many years, maybe ever. And he told me he was there for me, and was delighted that I would let him hold onto me while I soaked his shirt.

After crying your face feels tighter and your head throbs, but it's a good feeling, it's a feeling of release. The dirty feeling I had been building up was washed away, and now I can see that things may be getting better, slowly. And if not, we have each other, people who love us, people who will not flinch if your nose runs on their sleeve and will squeeze you even tighter if it happens.

We as people will never stop doing that. At least we have that.


I'm going to cook. That's another thing we all have.