Eleven days between posts is not how it’s supposed to be. I know.
I am writing this whilst having my hair cut instead of having my lunch. I am sacrificing lunch hour and nutrition to feel better because this week has not been good. Last month I confirmed that shopping is therapeutic, so with (or without) a bit of logic I went straight to thinking that a haircut would fix my week.
Fixing a problem without knowing what it is does not make any sense. But this is how I am right now. I can’t do anything more than one day at a time and sometimes even that is too much.
Last night. An absolutely beautiful and filled-with-laughter evening with the filmmaker. A couple of gin and tonics, with lime, no lemon. Club 71 welcomes familiar faces once again. I felt so good. About everything. But then I left. Crossing the harbor made it all come undone. It was a mistake, I said.
In a span of two minutes, I went from pure happiness to murderous rage. An emotional meltdown, complete falling apart. He stood in front of me, and as his face changed, I knew I crossed the line. There’s always a line. But he understood, I don’t even know how. It’s an ordeal and it exhausts me.
I search and yearn for simplicity, but I can’t relax. I haven’t been taught to relax. To slow down, to go easy. Not to be so hard with myself. Physical manifestation of stress isn’t supposed happen at twenty-three years of age. So many things were not meant to happen, but they still did. I battled through most of them with little to no harm, but some left scars that haven’t even begun to heal yet. I complicate things when they can be simple.
But as it turns out, a good haircut is all a girl needs to turn her week around.