I had a bad day last week. Or so I thought.
After an afternoon full of rejection, major story revisions, and haters hatin’ on my efforts,* I turned to my wife and said, “I had a crappy day at work and am glad it’s over.”
“I’m sorry,” she acknowledged. “Was it all bad?”
In truth it wasn’t. I had a great morning, a nice lunch, and the first hour of the afternoon was smooth sailing, I conceded.
She replied, “A friend and I were talking yesterday, and we decided that there’s usually no such thing as bad days, only bad hours.”
I quickly recalled all the “bad days” from recent memory and realized none of them were that entirely. While I’m sure I’ve had extended periods of bad hours, I don’t believe I’ve ever had a bad day from start to finish.
That’s probably the optimist in me speaking. But country songs are mostly fiction. Very few people (if any) people get divorced, fired, miss all their meals, and lose their dog in a single day.
In other words, “bad days” don’t exist, only bad hours.