I went to the gym, came home, started bawling. I gathered myself. I went on a walk, came home, started bawling. I gathered myself. I went on another walk, talked with my father on the phone, came home, and started bawling. Okay, the last time wasn't bawling, but it was crying. Crying and cursing. I was pathetically pissed off. Why pathetically? Because I had no idea why I was pissed off. I didn't really have a "reason" to be irritable. I just was. And still kind of am. But I am mostly disappointed.
What is disappointing me? Again, I don't really know. There must be a reason for the disappointment, but I can't pinpoint it. It could be the frustration that comes with living in a place where you constantly feel like a black sheep, an outsider. It could come from a lack of social interaction with like-minded folk. It could be sleepiness, caffeine, anemia, bulimia, anorexia, chronic depression, general anxiety, an absence of sex/estrogen/food/nature. Maybe I'm just dehydrated a little. Maybe a glass of water would cure what ails. Maybe I need to sit in my car and scream until my throat is sore and the teeny storm cloud above my troubled head floats away. Poof. Gone. See ya this time again tomorrow.
I am feeling better. (Am I saying this to make you feel better? To prevent you from further worry? Is it something I feel compelled to say? I want to only feel compelled to tell the truth. I have to first figure out what that truth is.)
I am going to take a peek at the sunset now. Sunsets and skies usually organize the disordered mess in my brain. They don't clean things up, but they at least straighten up the room and give me space to walk.
I will not, girl scout's honor, cry upon returning home after my sunset viewing. I will, girl scout's promise, make tea and listen to reggae music instead. And probably read Sylvia Plath's journals. Wuh-oh! Meg! Don't do it! Tooooo late. Love ya, Sylvia. Always have, always will.