Dear Paper Check:
When you arrived yesterday, I was in the middle of chasing my son around the house and had to quickly sort through the mail in order to glimpse you in all your enveloped glory. Excitedly, I ripped you open and peered inside. There it was--a payment for moi. A beautiful payment for moi. The amount was tiny, but I don't care--you represent something far more important than the number of dollars scrawled across your beautiful belly. You represent the proof that I rose above what happened at my day job and that I'm going "somewhere." You represent proof that people think I'm good at what I do--good enough to get paid for it. STILL! You represent my dream, which I fought tooth and nail to get to, only to have it yanked away--you're proof that sometimes, it's wise to backhand that enemy and simply yank it back.
When the days are shorter and the autumn bite is in the air, there will be time to pound away at the keyboard more and earn more. A cobbled patchwork quilt of abundance, I pray. But for now, I'll take you, paper check. And, I thank you.