​​’Twas the night before something, that big festive thing—
 When the world’s supposed to sparkle, perform, and to sing. The ads all said “joy,” but she mostly felt tired, 
Her calendar overbooked, her patience expired. The list kept growing—though she’d already run, 
From task to task, with no time for fun.
 Her hands kept on moving, her mind miles away, 
Missing the moments that make up this day. This year, she decided to show up anew Less pressure, more peace, a wonderful view. The fog of...

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