Friday was a good day.
After work I went with my mom to buy her flowers and hanging baskets for Mother’s Day, per our tradition. I got my petunias in the ground, went for a walk and simply enjoyed the sunshine and the fact that I could finally work outside.
Saturday wasn’t so great. I hate everything that I write as of late, so I’ll just share that I ended up wallowing in an emotionally dark place for a variety of (seemingly inexplicable and unrelated) reasons.
And we all know how wallowing is an extremely productive use of time.
At any rate, in the middle of one of my “moments,” I decided to go for a walk. Now, I’m the queen of preventative measures in that I plan for just about any contingency that may arise. Umbrellas, flashlights, extra napkins —you never know when you’re going to need them.
But seeing as there was only a 10 percent chance of showers that afternoon, I just laced up my shoes and took off. All was well until dark clouds rolled across the previously sunny sky. I ignored, as I’m prone to do when impending unpleasantness may occur.
However, it was hard to ignore the sprinkles and then outright downpour that followed a few minutes later. I had no umbrella. I had no towel. I had no ark in which to load pairs of animals and seek shelter. I kept walking — as I obviously had no other choice — but I was wet and cranky.
Then I started to wonder why. I wasn’t dressed up and ready to go to a wedding — unless a T-shirt, workout pants and unwashed hair were the nuptial attire — and I wasn’t carrying the Olympic torch with me. Why did it matter if I got a little wet, if I got a little uncomfortable?
I couldn’t control it and wasn’t prepared, so I simply kept walking along. But while I didn’t melt, I instead melted down, and a mixture of raindrops and teardrops were streaming down my face by the time I got back home. The rain stopped, but without an emotional umbrella to bust out and use, the tears just kept raining on down.
And I kid you not, a pile of bird shit landed two inches from where I was sitting on my deck, so be thankful for small miracles.
At any rate, in the interest of wrapping things up with a nice tidy bow, I’ll pull a metaphor from bird shit and me being creatively/emotionally constipated to walking in the rain and sitting with discomfort over a variety of things.
Storms — emotional or otherwise — eventually clear up with time, and umbrella or not, I have to keep walking each day.
After all, Sunday the sun shone again.
P.S. I could also twist a metaphor about always being ready for a shit storm, but I’m trying to be positive here. Work with me people, work with me…
Like the blog? Buy the book.