passion...schmassion

Day 10128 ½: Strength

When I was young, I prided myself on my strength. Crying is for babies, and wusses I would say to myself. I’m tough. I’m strong. I eat spinach just like Popeye. I can handle anything that gets thrown my way. Run, you bullies… take that!! I ain’t no cry-baby girlie girl. Beaches schmeaches - that movie’s for wimps… I am a pillar of strength… lean on ME when the going gets tough.

I grew up and discovered how wrong I was all those many years ago. I’m not tough. I’m not strong. Most days I just want to crawl back into my yellow daisy Holly Hobby princess bed in my bright yellow childhood room and wish that I never had to grow up, that life just passed me by and I could forever just be reading Nancy Drews, Hardy Boys or Bobsey Twins. Wish I never have to grow up… never have to face the real world.

But regardless of my fantasy, it was not to be… all of a sudden, the real world up and bitch slapped me full force in the face. Previously peacefully co-existing, surviving and getting by, avoiding confrontation, sticky situations…unassertive, unassuming, getting along with anyone and everyone, I grew up fast and find myself getting weaker and weaker… and being the one to lean more and more on other people.

And now, I am the wimp I so detested. I am the one who sends out the SOS emails, the how-can-this-shit-be-happening-to-me SMSs, makes the drunken/teary phone calls, the please-run-over-me-with-my-truck-and-I-really-mean-it-this-time pleas. Oh, and I cry. All. The. Time. I cried when the agent called to tell me that the contractor didn’t show up today and that he wasn’t so sure that I could move in on Saturday. I cried yesterday when I couldn’t get a moving van. I cried the day before when I couldn’t stand up straight or walk down the stairs. I cry and cry and cry. Every. Single. Freaking. day.

Today’s incident sent me into a jamoca-almond-fudge-gold-medal-ribbon-covered-in-hot-butterscotch eating frenzy. Yesterday’s was gin. Tonight’s will probably be Chopin… ok, maybe gin… regardless, I pray to all that is Holy that it is almost over and that something out there gives me strength so I don’t have to rely on so many people and can get through this in a confident, mature, cool, and classy way… because right now, I’m a teary-eyed, blurry-headed, sniffling cry-baby fool who dreams that things will once again right itself and go back to the fairy tale from whence I came. Oh, and I know, that given some perspective, my life is all peaches and roses compared to the woman who’s bearing Mike’s mistake.

When this is all over, I will have people to repay and amends to make. I must be strong… T minus 7 days.