on sunday morning, i woke with puffy swollen been-crying-all-night eyes and i couldn’t remember why. on saturday night, i canceled committed plans and didn’t seriously consider my non-committed plans, in order to be in bed by 9 p.m., but i was awake again at 11:30 p.m. and still could have gone out. i didn’t. i went for a run. i did a load of laundry. i wrote a long love letter. i had a sweet text exchange with a man who once loved me (eight years ago), later left me (six years ago), won’t see me in person, but text messages me every time he misses me, which happens plenty. i went back to bed at 3 a.m. and slept until 10 a.m. (which is an easter miracle for an insomniac, y’all–jesus has risen and pretty angel slept).
around 11 a.m. i noticed my puffy post-crying eyes. it took another hour and water pouring down my face from the shower for me to remember when and why i cried hard and long enough on saturday to induce swollen eyelids. when i remembered, i laughed, because it didn’t matter anymore, because the tears were long over, because the swelling would subside, and i wouldn’t be crying anymore for that. the catharsis was complete to the point of forgotten. i make that mean i’m healthier than i used to be. finally, i’ve learned to let go. i feel whatever i’m feeling, authentically express it, and then release it. because the feeling has had its full expression, i am free to forget about it; it needs no remembering, because it has completed its course.
last night while dancing, a friend commented that he reads my blog. he wanted me to assure him that it is fiction so that he wouldn’t worry about me. i honor people’s requests and clearly set boundaries, so i told him it was fiction (he knew i was lying) and we danced the next song. i almost asked him what specifically he was worried about, but didn’t. here’s why:
some people tell me my blog is funny. some people thank me for expressing what they also feel but couldn’t put in words. some people gently, sweetly urge me to get over myself, because my perception is whacked. and most people will never read it, including a few significant ones i’ve directly invited. people are going to read what reflects them, filtering according to what makes sense to them, and if they perceive something worrisome, they’ll worry. if it were up to me, i’d tell everybody to quit worrying. i’m not worried about anything, because worrying helps nothing. i’d also tell them i’m fantastically funny, but only some of them would believe me.