I didn’t think I could move. I had finished my classes for the day and had made it back to the office. Somehow my face found its way to the cool-to-the-touch wooden finish of my desk, arms swirling around it. There had never been fake wooden finish that looked so beautiful. I considered skipping it all: dinner, the LOST premier, bed, just so that I could stay there, in the office, face and arms glued to the beautiful wooden finish of my overly crowded desk. It had been an awful day and I had spent all of it counting the seconds until it would be over and I could go home. And now that it was finally over I couldn’t bring myself to move. There was a whole 3-minute walk and 40 steps separating me from my home. It’s just too much, I told myself. There was no way that I would be leaving my desk that night.

But somehow, I pried my face away from my desk. With the strength of Samson I resisted the temptation to check my Facebook and shut down my office computer instead. I stood to my feet, left the clutter behind me and suited up. First the coat, then the muffler, purse slung over the shoulder, and finally the mittens. I picked up our Sesame Street lunch bag with my left hand and opened the office door with my right. Somehow I made it down the stairs, out the front doors and into the cold. It’s amazing what some good cold air will do for you.

A mafia man* once told me that going slowly is always better than nothing. I walked home so so slowly. But somehow, I made it.

*I only think he’s a mafia man. He’s actually the head of the counseling department.