Fun morning here. For starters, I answered the doorbell in my PJs, only to come face to face with the head of our Homeowners Association. I had my FIRST delightful encounter with her the day we moved in. Something about the rule book and timing and blah-blah-blah. Couldn’t say exactly, as she was standing, uninvited, in my space, whacking me over the head with rules she hadn’t bothered to notify us about, so I tuned her out. No biggie. This morning’s surprise visit was about something equally inconsequential which she could have taken care of by looking with her eyes, so it was a non-moment. But you know how things like that set a tone.
No connection with the homeowner person, but there are days when all you do is cry. It doesn’t change anything, but it gets that stuff out there where you can look at it and try to figure out if it’s as scary as it seems, as hurtful as it feels, as huge as it looks. And no matter what, if it feels like your heart is shattering it’s huge. It’s been a long time since I’ve cried for myself, my own hurt feelings, my disappointments. It’s the people I care desperately about who can break me down into little pieces and bring my day to a halt. Family. Friends. The things that rock their world in a bad way shut mine down. When somebody I love is hurting I want to either hole up and not see another human being, or dig my Superman cape out of the laundry and confront the world. If I couldn’t vent on a daily basis to a lucky group of Facebook friends I’d probably be in jail. They help fill up my “give a damn” bucket when it’s empty, and they can’t possibly know how vital a service that is. Most of them I’ve never (yet) met in person, but just by getting it they heal me. What a gift not to have to explain things.
So my husband, who really IS Superman, took me to lunch and we tried a new place and I ended up crying at the table while I was trying to tell him what was going on in my stupid heart. Our waitress looked concerned, but I smiled at her later — “See? I’m fine!” — and she won’t remember me next time we go there so who cares. And Kim gets it, bless him. I try not to tell him ALL the things — he has his own stuff to wrestle with — but he always knows when I’m getting out of sorts so it’s only fair to let him know he didn’t do anything to make that happen. He makes the GOOD things happen and he saves my life all over again every day.
It’s starting to sound like the world will keep on turning, so I might get some music happening and work on the closet for a while. And maybe tomorrow the sun will shine.