Some days, a migraine and crawling-out-of-your-skin sensation tells you that there was undisclosed corn* in that chocolate you ate the night before.
*one of my many allergies
Some days, your beloved iMac starts making rumbly sicky noises.
Some days, you cry on the phone to your best friend.
Some days, you never write even the first word of that post you already should have submitted.
Some days, your daughter is a crabby pants.
Some days, by the time you manage to get outside to soak in your fifteen minutes of vitamin D, the sun is already sinking behind the rooftops.
O Thou who art my quietness, my deep repose,
My rest from strife of tongues, my holy hill,
Fair is Thy pavilion, where I hold me still.
Back let them fall from me, my clamorous foes,
From crowding things of sense I flee, and Thee I hide.
Until this tyranny be overpast,
Thy hand will hold me fast;
What though the tumult of the storm increase,
Grant to Thy servant strength, O Lord, and bless with peace.