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The Grind

Everyone has a grind.

To some, it’s stumbling over the same little shoes you just put away and making PBJs, running brushes through tangled hair, finding backpacks and pushing the littles into the car because you’re going to be late. Again.

To others, it’s sitting in traffic piles, rushing into work so you can sit in the same gray cubicle you just left. Picking up the hard, plastic phone to make today’s 400 calls to people who haven’t paid their bill. People who make you feel like a fraud because you have bills you haven’t paid, either.

To others, it’s showing up right on schedule at the dialysis center settling in that mock easy chair, grateful for┬áthose giant tubes whirring the poison out of your blood; so you can have the pleasure of getting your kids ready for school and going to work tomorrow.

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