Cry, Baby
Today was a sad day.
These have been a lot rarer lately, but today was the kind of day that makes me want to lay my head in my mom’s lap and cry.
I can usually find a reason for why I’m feeling sad, and today’s sadness is a complicated blend . . . but it’s a complicated blend of the same old shit. I picture my feelings as a tangled up knot, so hopelessly entwined that there’s very little point in trying to pull anything apart. I don’t know where to start.
Or, more disgustingly, one of those tumors that contains cells from different part of the body, and can have hair and teeth and stuff. It’s all in there together. Jealousy, sadness, anger, self-pity, loneliness, insecurity, and the feeling that I need to get over it.
This too will pass. So maybe I can live in the sadness while it lasts. My fear is always that it WON’T go away, though, and that I’ll be miserable for months, or years.
On my good, happy days I don’t worry a bit about the future. I’m confident that I will find my life path and handle the things that are thrown my way. But, on my bad days, all I can see is a long road of loneliness and boredom, my life ending here, exactly where it is now.
On bad days I panic about my slow slide toward thirty, the lines on my face that weren’t there five years ago, the gray hair I noticed last month . . . and the fact that despite all this, I still don't know where my life is headed.
Today, I want to pack up and move. I want to go back to school, get a new job, start a new life adventure somewhere. A big east coast city. New York, or Philly, or Boston. Walking the streets, confidently dressed and fashionable, to some sophisticated and important job. Meeting other people my own age, impressing them with my wit and coolness. But I can feel horribly alone in cities sometimes. Big, impersonal places, with no one who really knows me.
So maybe a small town. A cute place, possibly in New England, where everyone knows everyone and will look out for me. Like in a book. I’ll write, and enjoy the summer sunshine and make pumpkin pies in the fall and fires in the winter. Possibly take up cross-country skiing. And there will be a tall, dark, handsome writer-type, perhaps with a dark secret, whom I will make laugh and then redeem with my general quirky happiness and laid-back approach to life.
Yeah, that.
My life is neither a romance novel nor a movie, however, and I don’t see things wrapping up quite that neatly.
And so it goes.
These have been a lot rarer lately, but today was the kind of day that makes me want to lay my head in my mom’s lap and cry.
I can usually find a reason for why I’m feeling sad, and today’s sadness is a complicated blend . . . but it’s a complicated blend of the same old shit. I picture my feelings as a tangled up knot, so hopelessly entwined that there’s very little point in trying to pull anything apart. I don’t know where to start.
Or, more disgustingly, one of those tumors that contains cells from different part of the body, and can have hair and teeth and stuff. It’s all in there together. Jealousy, sadness, anger, self-pity, loneliness, insecurity, and the feeling that I need to get over it.
This too will pass. So maybe I can live in the sadness while it lasts. My fear is always that it WON’T go away, though, and that I’ll be miserable for months, or years.
On my good, happy days I don’t worry a bit about the future. I’m confident that I will find my life path and handle the things that are thrown my way. But, on my bad days, all I can see is a long road of loneliness and boredom, my life ending here, exactly where it is now.
On bad days I panic about my slow slide toward thirty, the lines on my face that weren’t there five years ago, the gray hair I noticed last month . . . and the fact that despite all this, I still don't know where my life is headed.
Today, I want to pack up and move. I want to go back to school, get a new job, start a new life adventure somewhere. A big east coast city. New York, or Philly, or Boston. Walking the streets, confidently dressed and fashionable, to some sophisticated and important job. Meeting other people my own age, impressing them with my wit and coolness. But I can feel horribly alone in cities sometimes. Big, impersonal places, with no one who really knows me.
So maybe a small town. A cute place, possibly in New England, where everyone knows everyone and will look out for me. Like in a book. I’ll write, and enjoy the summer sunshine and make pumpkin pies in the fall and fires in the winter. Possibly take up cross-country skiing. And there will be a tall, dark, handsome writer-type, perhaps with a dark secret, whom I will make laugh and then redeem with my general quirky happiness and laid-back approach to life.
Yeah, that.
My life is neither a romance novel nor a movie, however, and I don’t see things wrapping up quite that neatly.
And so it goes.
posted by Melanie at 9:48 PM
