I've got this black-and-white striped tunic, which I love. As I pulled it out of my closet this morning, I thought, "Oh yeah. Last time I wore this, I had to wash it because I sobbed all over it on the subway home." I finished getting dressed and went to a doctor's appointment.
After the appointment, overwhelmed and oversaturated, I sobbed on the M train home. Again! It was eerily identical to the last time I cried all over this shirt: I'm wearing almost exactly the same outfit; I was waiting at exactly the same subway stop; I covered my stupid eyes with the same stupid sunglasses. (Don't worry, guys! The shirt is fine.)
There is a distinct Jekyll and Hyde element to this experience. As I type this, it is at least three hours later. I am on my friend's couch in his beautiful Greenpoint apartment. We're listening to Beck and my toes are cold, and I am housecat-content.
Three hours ago, I was snotting all over my pillowcase at home.
I don't know how to integrate the two extremes, my misery this morning vs. my okayness now. It feels like there is no solution to the frustration; only pleasant distraction. Perhaps I fear once I am alone again and everything is quiet, it will come back. Perhaps the fear isn't "fear" at all, but rather "certainty."
And, I dunno. I guess as far as distractions go, this is as pleasant as it gets.
No comments:
Post a Comment