Although I read this book quickly and with interest, I have a blurry feeling about it. (view spoiler)[I know the main character fought "the Blur" of confusion herself, so maybe this was just really, really good writing that mimicked the MC's state of mind. If so, kudos. But it made me dislike her as a character. Did she ever make a good choice? Did she ever stop misusing her friends, family, and little son? 
 One thing that struck me was reading in a review that this was originally titled "The Flood Girls," but that title was taken by another book coming out at the same time. To me, the difference between that title and "Today Will Be Different" is staggering. Instead of a sister story, the new title centers the story around the main character and her confusion and ineptitude. I feel like I can see what the author was trying to do so much more clearly with the title "The Flood Girls." 
 That said, I did have a ton of quotes highlighted in this one, so I should probably read "Where'd You Go, Bernadette" now. 
 Favorite quotes: 
 (Joe has a thing he calls the magazine test. It's the reaction you have when you open the mailbox and pull out a magazine. Instantly, you know if you're happy to see this magazine or bummed. Which is why I don't subscribe to The New Yorker and do subscribe to Us Weekly. Put to the magazine test, Sydney Madsen is the human equivalent of Tinnitus Today.) 
 Every person has it in him to be either the Competent Traveler or the Helpless Traveler. Because Joe is so clearheaded and sharp, I've been able to go through life as the Helpless Traveler. Which, now that I think about it, might not be such a good thing. 
 ...if you were raised by a drunk, you're above all the adult child of an alcoholic. For a quick trip around the bases, it means you blame yourself for everything, you avoid reality, you can't trust people, you're hungry to please. Which isn't all bad: perfectionism makes the straight-A student; lack of trust begets self-sufficiency; low self-esteem can be a terrific motivator; if everyone were so gung-ho on reality, there'd be no art. 
 She was born trusting and stayed that way, believed in people, saw the good in their stories, in their intentions, played along with how they wanted to be perceived. 
 "I don't mean to ruin the ending for you, sweet child, but life is one long headwind. To make any kind of impact requires self-will bordering on madness. The world will be hostile, it will be suspicious of your intent, it will misinterpret you, it will inject you with doubt, it will flatter you into self-sabotage." 
 That was happiness. Not the framed greatest hits, but the moments between. At the time, I hadn't pegged them as being particularly happy. But now, looking back at those phantom snapshots, I'm struck by my calm, my ease, the evident comfort with my life. I'm happy in retrospect. 
 It wasn't the end of Bucky that had Eleanor living in Technicolor. It was being a sister again. There was no relief deeper than being loved by the person who'd known you the longest. Eleanor's heart giggled with mad abundance: so much to share, so much goodwill, so many notes to compare, so many ways to help and be helped. 
 "Go when you can, not when you need to," I said. They all looked at me. "Advice about going to the bathroom," I said. "Sound advice." 
 We got married, and of course I thought, This is what life is. But it wasn't life. It was youth. 
 The lawn was freshly mowed and striped like vacuumed carpet. 
 "Oh, I'm in pain," Eleanor said. "Pain I'm good with. It's discomfort I can't handle." 
 I knew then: If underneath anger was fear, then underneath fear was love. Everything came down to the terror of losing what you love. 
 He puts up with my crap without seeing it as crap. 
 This was the best version of Joe. I saw it with my own eyes. I'd always assumed his becoming that better person would involve me. (hide spoiler)]