I created this draft last week and I suppose I was having too terrible of a day to find it decent enough to post. But any lesson that involves thrice daily tears, is a lesson worth sharing…
I cried three times today. That’s a lot for a Wednesday.
I first cried at 8 AM when I called my mother. Mama, I think I hurt my leg. “Oh my god, never call me crying again,” she moaned, “I thought something happened.” Sorry, sorry, but I think pulled a muscle! My mother sighed heavily into the phone–clearly not considering a possibly pulled muscle “something” that “happened.” Now, how will I stay on track for my marathon? My mother calmed me down for the mile walk back (the mile run preceding this was tainted by that faint, but irritating leg pain often known as it kinda hurts, but should I stop).
She assured me that I could rest and that I could still run a marathon–maybe just a later one. Ok. I could come to terms with that. I came home, ate pound cake and whipped cream for breakfast, and lay in my bed, staring at my ceiling. I could come to terms with that eventually.
I cried again at 10:48 AM. I cannot deal with this right now! I jumped out of the driver’s seat and asked my sister to park the car in the parking garage. I was running late for an interview. The interview was for an unpaid internship. Already conflicted about the (f)utility of such a venture, I was greatly peeved by the design of the parking structure, with its too steep ramps and stairs, stairs, stairs (no elevators as far as the tearing up eye could see).
My interviewer assured me that the internship’s flexible hours could work for me. Ok, I can spare 10 hours a week–I’m probably free that much anyway. I listened carefully as she outlined all that the “office of cultural affairs” manages in Charleston. Festivals and art galleries? Of course, I could do that. Unpaid? Yeah, (maybe), I could figure my way around that.
I cried for the last time at 3:30 PM. Walking through the throng of dogs at the kennel, I was almost knocked down by Brandi. Otis bit at my hand (I was probably asking for it–I was wearing a watch). Cate wouldn’t stop barking and Max wouldn’t leave Belle alone. And you can’t really get mad at dogs, when all they’re doing is being dogs. So I cried a bit. Teared up maybe–since I was at work. But I felt that heaviness that comes with holding back tears and I really just wanted to be anywhere but there.
I assured myself that I could find enough work to do in the front of the kennel, so that I could take a break from the barking. I’m used to it–most of the time. But on days when I wish someone–human or canine, could console me, the jumping and yelping echo around the terrible truth of pulled muscles and not-enough-rent-money. Everything’s going wrong.
I tried to cry at 7:01 PM. Driving home, listening to my favorite Dixie Chicks song, I wanted to cry about my bad day. But I couldn’t really muster the tears. Maybe I was cried out. Or maybe I’m just a little bit more sane than self-pitying Wednesday Connelly would like to believe. I was still angry, frustrated, and (as usual) completely unsure about a lot of everything.
This morning, when I bent to stretch my sore leg against a stone pillar, I noticed graffiti sprayed across the bottom: DONT PANIC. I’ve decided to follow this advice. I don’t think that’s asking too much of a Wednesday.