And... I'm Done

I think the hardest part of growing up might be the quickness with which the punches really get dealt.

Its not that I can't handle having a birthday - read: evaluating my life to see if its going somewhere I'm proud of.

Its not that moving is overwhelming in and of itself - though it ranks top 5 in any stress scale ever invented.

There is nothing terrible about taking care of and cleaning all of my things, even if there is a woman who feels like her lungs are made of sandpaper until I do it correctly.

The work load doubling the same week I am asked to run paperwork to fire two people isn't enough to drive my car off the cliff.

Knowing I wanted to fall in love and letting myself get started on it with a young bucking lad who tried to tell me he wasn't interested, then having him tell me how the sex was with the chick he could see himself being a couple with, doesn't have to have me questioning God's plan for learning lessons about ONLY going for people who need an ego boost and then cheat on me when they feel better about themselves. It could have just been "oh, well, ok then" instead of "I asked you specifically to do ANYTHING you wanted EXCEPT fuck another chick you fuckwad". But it wasn't.

Having to tell someone who has wrapped his head around me for a year that I'm just not interested in him, that I won't go to sushi with him, that there is no reason to make hotel reservations, it doesn't have to rip my heart out that I can't be interested in a guy who would love to love me.

Looking at my new life in my new place and deciding to avoid it by getting drunk on wine and fat with pizza instead of strolling the beach the night before Flo's Fury has me thinking of leaving work sick an hour after getting in doesn't have to be the dumbest mistake ever, and it doesn't have to mean that I am abandoning my struggle to lead a healthy life.

Being so wrapped up in my bad day only to find my sister had a similar conversation with her ACTUAL love of her life really isn't so bad, since I did find out anyway, and it was at the first shot she had to tell me... but somehow it stings that I didn't take a minute to talk about her before 11pm.

Knowing I will be promoted for New Years and that the whole office is so excited about it and being terrified to walk in the door this morning because I feel like a failure at what I'm doing now doesn't have to have me in tears in the hallway at 8:58am (or 12:35pm at lunch, or 6:05pm when I lock up, regularly).

And its not that the world is so bad when Flo is in town, but she sure does make walking from the car to the office building a challenge in controlling moans and crys of pain on the staircase and makes the slope of the walkway feel like a daunting test of the capacity of the knees NOT to shoot straight off my body in a firey burning blaze of seizing heated pain.

Its not that any of this is really all that bad - I mean pick a statement and tell me to get over my drama mama self and move on!!! - but when you throw it all together in two weeks time... it makes me say things like "I'm sorry I'm so perfect and good at what I do and that everyone has so much faith in me that I can do the work and get promoted and move my life to the other side of the county and set up shop all by myself and that I really am a person so armored that I could take a guy and tell him I don't want him romantic with anyone else and then get told he fucked someone else within the next 12 hours and have him think I would be cool enough with that to get him to say "the coolest part about us is that after all this fighting or talking or whatever we've just done, I know we'll hang out this weekend and it'll be chill and we can still have sex and its all good" and for him to be TOTALLY SHOCKED when I said "you will never touch me again"... I am SO FUCKING SORRY I am so good at convincing people that all I am is the most competent, most agreeable, most laid back, most available, most driven, most awsome parts of me... because really it is a struggle to get out of bed every morning!!!! I don't hit snooze because I'm lazy or tired, I hit snooze because it really is all too much for me to take and I have to find the moment of UNCONSCIOUS HABIT to get my feet to the floor."

I left my sister and my dog curled up in my bed, dripped Flo on my whitish tan carpet before I could remember where I packed the tampons, had the new dog howling at me the entire time I was putting on my war paint because he didn't want me to go to work, looked at my roomie who had been on the beach for the previous 2 hours with her perky hello and wide awake eyes, and forced myself NOT to pick up the phone and call in weak.

It's Thursday. Is there going to be another day of the week I add to my list of Fuck This Day For Fucking My Ass Without Lube???