Where is The Sacrifice?

I feel like I was up all night crying. I wasn't, for the record; not even a little. My throat feels strained though, and my chest hollowed out like after some great effort from my heart and lungs. Maybe it was the yoga class. That certainly explains the strain my my legs at least. Maybe it was my dreams. I don't remember them well: not the ones I'm going to talk about here anyway. All I did last night after class was go home and have a smoothie, do a little writing, then go out to the Turf for a portabello mushroom sandwhich (a first for me) and a glass of wine. I didn't get drunk. I drove home at a reasonable hour, wrote for a few more minutes then went to bed with Morphine playing on the stereo.

Today feels like a day to be gotten through. Tomorrow will be better. I shouldn't think that way, I know. I should be open to today being great-- to good and unexpected things happening, but most likely I will have my meeting, my boss will talk to me about what needs to be done next. I will realize how far behind I am with some of my work and I will try to catch up, but my heart won't be in it.