It’s 5:44 on Friday. I’ve canceled my plans. I’ve ordered Chinese food. I have some wine. I have some “Real Housewives” on the DVR. My goal: Be in bed with a book by 7:30. Asleep by 8:30.
This time, exactly 10 years ago, I was standing at the altar.
I knew this day was coming. It would sort of float in and out of my mind and I would just let it.
I figured I’d just move through today like, “Yeah, that sucks but I’m OK …”
Turns out, I haven’t been quite so cool about it.
I just cried on the phone to one friend who called and then sobbed all over a second one as I told her I wouldn’t be joining her tonight.
I think it would be better if I weren’t so darn tired. My darling wee one, Benjamin, hacked up his little toddler lungs all night — in addition to moving through the last of a stomach bug — so I didn’t really sleep. (I took him to the doc today. He’s — shockingly — totally fine.)
Anyway, I’ve just decided to go with it. I’m going to give in to feeling like crap today. As I said to one friend: I would be a cold person if I didn’t feel bad today.
It’s funny. I’ve always been a feeler. Good, bad, confused, jubilant, despondent … whatever emotion it was, I was always all about jumping in there and examining it — holding it up and turning it every which way to see how it changed when the light hit it.
But I find lately, sometimes I’m just not in the mood. Sometimes I don’t want to hold it up. Sometimes I want to toss it in the garden and kick some dirt over it.
I have no illusions about that. Someone somewhere once said that all buried emotions are buried alive.
But fuck it.
Tonight I don’t care. I want to kick some dirt over this day. Perhaps something interesting will poke up out of the soil afterwards.
Saved by the doorbell … see you on the other side, peeps.
Thanks for reading.
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