Methinks I need a good cry. A good ol’ end-o-my-rope, can’t take any more, it’s gotta get better from here, cry. I’m not good at that, though. And as I get older, the only thing I think I’m actually improving on is an art to bury my emotions under a layer of pretend apathy. I’m not sure if that’s because I’ve learned that there isn’t really that much in life worth getting that upset over, or if it’s because it makes me feel better to act nonchalant.
I can’t (won’t) go into it here. It wouldn’t be chic, or polished, or temperate of me to get into the details. I’ve tried to define the emotions over the past week, and I can’t land on one that’s just right. To say “devastated” would sound melodramatic. “Frustrated” doesn’t seem to go far enough. “Disappointed” is trite, in comparison to the details. And I know better than to let anger take hold, but there might actually be a touch of plain old “angry” in there.
So, I’m left without answers, and the classic stand-in for a lack of answers is, “Everything happens for a reason.” Talk about trite. I feel like I’m just patting myself on the head and telling myself to “run along, now”. But there are no other answers. No other solutions. No (clear) options. No magic wands. No rainbows, and definitely no pots o’ gold.
There is probably a lesson to be learned in here somewhere. I can’t find it yet, aside from a solid reminder of “do unto others as you would have done unto you.”
That leaves me with forward motion. One foot. In front. Of the other. And repeat. With the hope that the light at the end of the tunnel isn’t a train.