Yesterday was one of those days where you feel like you’re attempting origami for the first time in a room full of Japanese 7-year olds. It was one of those days where I torment myself with the constant refrain of “what would Oprah be doing right now?” Oprah is my mental formation of absolute competence in all things great and small. Oprah always makes the right decision; Oprah always knows what to say and do. Oprah wouldn’t have had my day. And to be clear, it wasn’t a tragic day. I didn’t run over my cat or anything. I don’t have a cat. I only said that because I couldn’t bring myself to say dog. Cats are more expendable. Everyone knows that. No, it wasn’t a tragic day, thank God. It was, I guess, an incompetent day. And it was a Monday, to top it off. It’s never good to start your week off as incompetent; it doesn’t exactly bode well for the rest of the week. I had good intentions. I “set myself up for success.” I followed a Tony Robbins approved foundation – brisk walk to get the blood and mind flowing, some strength training (even included the dreaded burpees), meditation, good breakfast, then mentally outlined my day. First up – I would call down to North Carolina and I would SAVE THE DAY by setting up the vaccines for my 87- & 82-year-old parents. Brilliant! Thoughtful! Caring! What a way to start the day and the week! Fifteen minutes later I’m foaming at the mouth and leaving simmering angry voicemails with the Governor’s office and ranting about the dysfunctional broken health care system. As my husband calmly in the other room tracks down some ACTUAL possible solutions.) Ok, off to meet my friend for coffee and to unpack the emotional turmoil from dropping my daughter back at college the day before. No sooner do we have the lattés in hand, the friend gets the call. Time to pick up the cat up from the vet. This time there really is a cat in the story, and the damn thing wasn’t even sick or hurt – “it was sneezing”. Swear to God. So, she’s off out the door like a black Friday shopper (remember those?). I walk home alone. Next up – I get on the SCALE and weigh myself. Because that makes sense, right? Well, I won’t bore you with the details but there was a practical reason for it and it was now showing me 6 pounds heavier. (My husband tried to convince me it was my sweater). Add in 2 more other things that went equally bad and that brings us to 8pm when I threw myself on the sofa and turned it over to the Great British Baking Show for the rest of the night. Talk about resignation. Looking back, I do wonder why I actually had the expectation that it should all go well and according to plan. That somehow, I’m entitled to it because I did a few burpees, or if I were just a little more Oprah, I could avoid these – I don’t even know what to call them – “unfortunate events”, “things to be avoided”. Where does that little black box come from? The one I put myself in that feels like a straight jacket made of cactus quills. It’s a Monday. The sun rose. I’m not even entitled to that. I just expect it. How much else am I expecting? San Diego weather, Matt Damon for a spouse, business successes great and small, cooperative bureaucrats, healthy cats, magical scales, light sweaters… Perhaps its my expectations that may need a Monday morning adjustment. Have a good week. Be nice to cats.