My favorite client, the one who can never make up her mind about anything, calls and leaves a long message on my voice mail, complaining about the lack of progress on her remodel and how she’s been billed hours and hours and yet she has no kitchen to speak of, no fixtures ordered, no cabinet finishes selected, nothing firm.

I sit in my car at the traffic light and listen to her unhappy rambling voice mail and feel my anger grow.

I’ve had it with unhappy people. I feel as though I’m surrounded by unhappy people who are determined to be unhappy. It’s as if being unhappy makes them happy.

Like my client, Liz. Liz is incredibly wealthy, extremely beautiful, married to a handsome, successful husband, and she has nothing to do all day but shop and volunteer at her kids’ school—which is great. Except nothing pleasant ever comes out of Liz’s mouth. She’s always grumbling, always complaining, always blaming everyone else for her unhappiness, and I don’t need this anymore.

I don’t want this anymore.

I don’t have to work with people who make me miserable. I’m my own boss. I should start acting like my own boss. I should start making smarter decisions for myself.

Starting with getting rid of Liz and then working only with clients I enjoy. Setting limits with others. Not allowing my friends, or Daniel, to boss me around. Trusting my judgment and doing what I feel is right.

And suddenly my anger melts. That big knot of tension inside my chest starts to dissolve. I can breathe.

I can see a future where I’m making decisions and taking control, and I feel better about myself. I feel better about the world.

I’m going to be an adult. And yes, I know. It’s about time.

I get my kids squared away with sports and ballet and dinner before heading over the 520 bridge to the Eastside.

I don’t know very much about these prospective clients other than that the woman, Sarah, seemed absolutely desperate to meet at their home in Medina tonight. I didn’t want to meet tonight, I’ve still got last-minute packing and organizing to do, but Sarah practically begged me, and she sounded so teary and desperate that I couldn’t say no. Apparently her husband travels almost constantly but is home tonight, a rare occurrence, and she wants me to meet him.

It takes me all of ten seconds to realize the husband isn’t interested in meeting me. Once we’re seated in the living room, he sits with his glass of wine, looking bored and/or exhausted while Sarah unrolls the house plans for their new home to be built on Lake Washington.