I woke up crying this morning. I went to sleep last night crying. I wonder if I’ll figure out why. I wonder if I’ll even bother trying to figure it out.
I don’t boohoo cry. Tears just flow freely. I hear they make medicine for that. Even though tears are streaming down my face as I type this, in my heart I think that my therapist from 1994 would be so proud of me. See, in 1994 I couldn’t wouldn’t cry. I did cry, but only when I was having a total breakdown.
I’m not having a breakdown right now. I’m just, well, crying. My heart doesn’t hurt, I am not sad, and I am not upset about anything. Since I don’t know the source, I guess this is the time for that medicine?
Six weeks or so ago I washed my clothes hangers (plastic) in the dishwasher to get them all clean and shiny. When I posted it on Facebook, someone commented “they make a medicine for that.”
Yesterday one of my pans under the stove kept rattling. It was irritating distracting. Very distracting. I found myself clenching my teeth together. Flexing my fingers to release any tension that might be creeping up, and did the mental check of “did I take my medicine for that…do I need to increase my medicines for that…”
Instead, I did what any normal person would do at that point. I took the pan out from under the stove and made brownies in it. Today I will venture down to the beach to see the progress they are making on the new construction. Strangely enough, the rattling of the pan just made me want to see what they were working on down there.
I was upset with myself because I couldn’t block it out. I couldn’t block out my curiosity. I’m sure they make a medicine for that, too.
I believe my tears are just tears of release. Letting go of the past and allowing my future to unfold. That I’m allowing my duck to be black. I don’t care if they make a medicine for that…
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