you choose

My father says that you always have a choice in front of you, no matter how bleak, how straight-ahead on the long hard road, the situation seems.

I think about this during the grind of the days.

Even after she turns around, I smile. I don't call her names in my head as I dig my way out of the piles of work.

There is always a choice.

I think about this when Crazy A is at his worst, insane and wild-eyed, threatening and fuming and running away.

You can give in and sink, or you can hold to hope and rise on the sure tide of its promise.

I think about this on the way home from the store, after an awkward run-in, when he can't (or won't) force his eyes to meet mine. You were wrong about him...an irredeemable jerk, I start to think.

And then I remember that I don't have to think of him at all. It's up to me.