Sick N Moody

I was agitated a lot of today...aside from all the glorious evidence of womanhood (you know, the bloating, the cramping, the headache, fever, etc.), I had to deal with a co-worker's iritation with me and our oh-so-subtle polite chat chat while covering up that irritation. And on top of all the joys of raggines, I have a cold. So yes, I would have rather been sleeping today instead of standing up all day long, dealing with demanding people who--let's face it--just aren't right in the head. One of them was an old high school classmate. She and I looked each other right in the eye and although I was polite, I thought, this could be me. I am possibly only one chemical imbalance away from staring into someone's eyes from the other side of this glass. And today, I felt really close. She was somewhat snooty in high school. And I teetered between arrogant and shy. But there's nothing that says her personality is more prone to mental illness than mine. I could be the one swiping my card to attend groups and get meds.

And I was thinking about something a friend told me about her and an ex...I started to doubt it, today. I didn't have a problem with any of it, until today. Then I thought, what if it's all made up, and I am made a fool of again? And that is no doubt why I refuse to show my brokenness. I never want to let it take a hold of me as it once did.

Random thought...what if they move across the street? (Not so random in my head.)

Went to have drinks with some co-workers and my friend kept randomly (?) touching my thigh throughout the night as he was making jokes We were joking and laughing, exchanging some witty banter about the old office and he would tap my thigh. Odd. That had never happened before. For a moment, I actually felt attractive. It was another dimension to myself I thought had been buried. (It lives.)

By the time my shift had ended I was ready to ditch church and head straight home where Mike's Hard Lemonade sets in the fridge...chillin'. At that point, I really didn't give a shit about anything. I blinked back the tear that attempted to excape--and even stopped singing the song responsible for conjuring it out.

I just didn't feel useful; I didn't feel loved. And tonight, I stopped caring about it.

Are tears a sign of caring? Is that why I stopped them? Are they a sign of vulnerability and brokenness? Does it really matter that whenever I pass by, you don't even say hi? Tip toe across my feelings so as not to make me mad. and yet, I take it as you not caring enough to push my buttons in order to find out what's really inside of me. It couldn't be a fear of losing something that's only a remnant of what used to be now is hardly even there. Because I never walk away. But tonight, I didn't care.

The cramps have increased and the potency of the pills only decreased. Nothing has subsided...except the day. So now I sleep. They say tomorrow is a new day...I wonder if it will bring a new me. You'll hardly know who I am or what I'm about.