Tuesday, September 23, 2008

How I Feel

Right now, I feel like my life is collapsing around me, like the house at the end of that horror movie (Amityville? Poltergeist?). Constricting. Squeezing. Crumpling like a piece of typing paper. Every breath is harder to take. I'm trapped.

I feel like I've had my crisis and now my friends have moved on: He's better now. He doesn't need our support, our calls, our invitations for weekend fun. Except I don't feel better. I feel like I could stay on my sofa forever ... or, at least, until my savings run out. I feel like a product of my WASP upbringing. Look perfect on the outside, while your insides crumble.

My tears taste sweet.

6 comments:

  1. Pack up your troubles in your old wine cork and . . .

    So sorry you're feeling trapped and crumbly. Wish I could help. I'm not much good at other than creating diversions and encouraging drinking. If I were there, I'd be doing that now.

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  2. anne marie in philly1:45 AM

    wish I lived closer...

    just a thought...since the days are so nice right now, perhaps some time outside would do you good...take in some art, the botanical garden, a bike ride in rock creek park...MARC up to baltimore and hang at the inner harbor...

    yeah, I know it's no fun to do these things alone...

    VUBOQ has to keep his inner strength up and his mind active...if for no one else but isabella, who depends on you for her very life!

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  3. This is a rotten rotten time, but just a blip on the radar that is your whole life -- would you consider taking a lesser job just to get you out of your house? Like Starbucks -- everyone always seems happy in Starbucks.

    And then you can continue looking for your forever job.

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  4. My nanny job is still open.

    How about happy hour next week?

    xoxo, SG

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  5. Bossy has a good point - everyone smiles in Starbucks. I think it's all the sugar and caffeine.
    XOXO.

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  6. I agree with Bossy too. Any small job (like your old thing in the museum) that would take you out and get you to mix with people..

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