Tuesdays are notoriously weird, right? I guess today hasn't been weird. It has just been sad. Please don't blame it on the weather. I'll explain later.
Stoic after stepping in some dog shit, I decided showering might be a good idea. It was approaching 5:30pm. Most people take showers well before the evening news. Well, I ain't most people, buster.
I turned the radio on, washed away the grime of the day, and then proceeded to cry when KRCL played "Under My Thumb" by the Stones. God. That song. Every time.
And I see and read about all of my failed romances successfully existing in foreign countries. They lead catalog worthy lives. Always smiling, always parasailing, always wearing the right shade of blue with the right fit of jeans. Casual, yet classy. How do they do it? How do they pool together their pennies to create such a fantasy life? And why is my life spent showering at dinner and crying naked?
It would do me a world of good to quit comparing. It would do me a world of good to fix and eat and enjoy a sandwich. It would do me a world of good to let go and let god. Kidding. Although I am open to the idea of prayer. But just the idea.
I am open to almost no one these days. It becomes a colossal challenge to place yourself bare in front of another person only to have them tell you it's just the rain that's making you sad. It's just the weather.
But it's not the rain. It's not the shower. The tears didn't come until after when I was drying off. And the tears came before as well. Precipitation does not deplete one's brain of serotonin. Precipitation just makes the dog shit easier to clean off of your old shoe.
And now alone I will sit outside where I am comfortable and become too comfortable once again with Sylvia Plath. I started diving into her journals. We all know I can't swim, but that won't stop me from going to the deep end of her pool. I am both delighted and terrified to think that it may be my pool as well. You are a deep well, Sylvia, and I have quietly brought my bucket. I don't care about the rain above; it's what's beneath that counts.
Tuesdays are a little weird, though. I blame it on the weather because why not, why not.