happy/sad

I am awake, but I cannot move my head at the moment, my head having inexplicably rebelled against movement yesterday afternoon at the bookstore. This morning my neck and shoulders are so painful they actually woke me up when I tried to turn over, and I figured I would while away the time while the advil takes effect by telling you about my happy day.

Well, really, I am actually pretty sad. I am losing Someone I Love, and it is hard for me to let go in the way it is always hard for me to let go, I keep thinking I can make things better by determinedly trying to clear the air, but it is spectacularly, egregiously not working, and of course knowing this I should just back the fuck off, but I CAN'T because I am no good at letting go of people and I don't know what to do--what is there to do, really?--when one is so determined to be let loose as Someone seems to me to be. So I am sad.

But it's comforting to realize that life, just at the moment, does not want me to be sad. It keeps poking me in the ribs, making little jokes, playing music I love, keeping me preoccupied (and not just by immobilizing me in my bed), giving me unexpected rushes of pleasure, and so this morning I am not feeling grief-stricken and self-pitying so much as I am just feeling like me, albeit a me who could use a good massage, or maybe a chiropractor.

:::

Yesterday, I got off work and headed home with the promise of a night out ahead of me, and got home and took the dog for a short walk and it was lovely, with the azaleas in bloom and a little field of dandelions, which I ought not to love but really do, in the churchyard down the street where the dog likes to poke around. And then we came home and the dog, who is not usually a cuddler, wanted to cuddle for a while and so we did and I fell asleep for maybe fifteen minutes with her tucked up beside me, and got up with, I thought, just enough time to brush my teeth--forgot to brush my hair, though--and stop at the grocery store to pick my price of admission to Best Worst Movie Night in the form of hard cider. Or so I thought, but I didn't take into consideration the fact that having changed neighborhoods, I've also changed grocery stores, and so it took me ten minutes to even find the beer, much less the cider hidden in the midst of it, and on the way a packet of Little Debbie strawberry cakes and a box of cheez-its were found, and I am using the passive voice because I am not going to accept responsibility for buying them, and then I found the cider and went out to the car and opened the strawberry cakes and sniffed them and they smelled so good, like sugar and strawberries, that I had to eat one in the parking lot. And then I went to my friend T's tiny little dollhouse and we watched The Pirate Movie and laughed ourselves sick at it (did I mention, said L, that it is a musical? An eighties pop musical? Well it is), and ate pizza and talked and listened to Beck and read Colin Meloy interviews and looked at car buying guides which are like crack for me.

I am telling you, my life is on my side right now, and it feels pretty good. I am losing someone I love, and that always hurts and it has hurt for a long time and no doubt it will keep hurting, but there are Flannery and people to hang out with, and inside jokes and advil and boxes to unpack and cats to fetch and breakfasts of plastic-coated strawberry cake on the porch calling.

I will save a cake for you, okay? Drop by anytime. I'll be the girl on the porch who can't turn her head.