There is comfort in knowing there are people out there who work really hard. I know I'm not one of them, who just gives myself up to the heat of the day every day. When things get too stressful and I find myself crying over sad songs playing in public restrooms, I just try to think of that person caked in dirt and sweat, flour or paint, who worked harder than me today. That even though my physical frame couldn't handle it, someone else's could, which means mine might be able to. If I wanted it to. If I made it.