Beautiful Mess

One of the big adjustments to being single is not having someone who must listen to you when you are upset. The lack of intimacy, the space left where someone should be holding your hand. When you have bad days, for whatever reason, you are left to navigate them alone, unless you go out of your way to reach out for comfort. This reaching out has never been a strong point of mine. Instead, I'll shut myself in or pretend to others that I'm shining through the darkness.
Today was no good. Several events culminated to make it not good. In an attempt to make it better, I made plans to go out. Drink. Have a good time. Only when it came time to actually do it, I found that was not what I wanted. I found that what I wanted was some real time with someone. Some time to sit down and talk about how I was feeling, about what was upsetting me. Only, in my stubborn and and somewhat self deprecating mind I didn't feel I had that person to reach out to. Now, I'm sure that many of friends would have been willing to listen, including the ones with whom I had plans. But, that wasn't really what I wanted. The intimacy of knowing someone and really communicating is something that, in my opinion, doesn't happen very often. Instead, we end up drinking away and mashing through issues that require more time and attention than we seem to want to give them.
Reaching out would also mean vulnerability. Giving out a piece of myself that I'm not ready to. Yes, all of my friends know I'm a mess, but I'm at least a private mess. I don't have melt downs, don't have crazy days, at least not outwardly. Exposing that side to someone feels to dangerous. For now, exposing my crazy through weekly blog posts is enough for me...

Glass Houses

Have you ever had one of those days you just wished you could do over? You wake up on the wrong side of the bed, and even though there might not be anything particularly wrong, you just feel... blah.

Yesterday was one of those days - I was cranky, in part, because it would have been my mom's 55th birthday. But also because I was tired, sick, and it was raining. Luckily, I've only had one baby to watch this week, as the other family is on vacation, but I spent most of the day coughing and washing my hands attempting not to infect my adorable charge.

Upon leaving work the sky looks as though it belongs in some sort of Edgar Allen Poe story -- dark and foreboding. As I drive home it begins to rain... which is fine. I don't really mind rain, aside from the irritation that comes when people forgot how to drive in it. I get home, and it's pouring, so I gather my stuff and run to the door, only to realize that Hub has indeed dead bolted the door on the inside -- so I can't get in. So here I am, standing in the rain, sick, tired, sad and irritated. So, I knock on the door, which is glass paneled on top (do we begin to see where this is going?), I don't hear Hub responding, so I decided to knock louder, also harder. Well, knocking hard on thin, 30 year old glass is a bad idea. My hand went THROUGH the glass and sliced my wrist open. Ok, great. There is a ton of blood, and I can't really see where is it sliced, but Hub opens the door and immediately we grab a towel, apply pressure and head to the ER. My first thought is that they are going to think I tried to slit my wrists and I'm going to have to deal with some sort of psych eval, but luckily no one even intimated that. The cut ended up being more to the side, and while it required 4 stiches, didn't really do much damage, other than making me feel like an idiot.

So, you know the old saying "People who live in glass houses should not throw stones" ? Well, they shouldn't knock on them, either.