There are days when I feel like sunshine and roses and rainbows, and eskimo kisses, and all sorts of pretty, fluttery, fruity-loopy shit. Sometimes I even ask my friends who are still in their never ending honeymoon stage questions like, “How did u guys meet? How did he propose? How did u know u loved him? etc. etc.” just so I can giggle and feel encouraged upon hearing my response. Just last week I started crying “happy tears” at work while listening to Robin Thicke’s “Sweetest Love,” ‘cuz I thought the song was so beautiful and it encompassed everything wonderful about being in a relationship. And just yesterday I drafted a post talking about how happy I am to be at a place in my life where although I’ve been hurt, and my hearts been beaten, I embrace my bruises and scars and STILL BELIEVE IN LOVE. Afterall, “When u harbor bitterness, happiness will dock elsewhere.”
But sweetie, today ain’t one of those days.
I’m borderline rivaling Kurt Cobain’s self-loathe factor and am as bitter as a Angela Bassett in Waiting to Exhale. I am a living, breathing, walking hypocrisy of all the ideals I try to convey in my blogs. And that pisses me off so much I think I’m turning green.
Today. Today I feel like the clean-up woman. Like Chuck from Good Luck Chuck minus the penis and insane sex-life. Except at least Chuck was useful, he served a purpose. I feel useless, and a little unworthy. Like every effort I’ve made went unnoticed, or just wasn’t good enough. I feel inconsolable and stubborn. I don’t want to hear no goddamn “It’s gonna be ok,” or, “Time is ur friend,”bullshit. I know it’s true, but I refuse to swallow it. Everyone around me is having babies and getting married and I’m just. Here. I’m in no rush for either ‘cuz I sure as hell ain’t ready for either, but it would be nice to know that it WILL happen. And now I sound pathetic. Oh dear God I must look like Jennifer Anniston. Bright girl. Pretty girl. Smart girl. Funny girl. But something must be wrong with her if she ain’t got no man?! So now I’m angry. With myself. For having this schizophrenic conversation. For this heart vs. mind civil war. For even thinking of thinking that I’m not good enough or anything less than extraordinary. For dwelling on failed relationships and disecting the exact second it went wrong and what I could’ve done to have avoided it’s destruction when none of that shit is important nor relevant. For caring about the past. For letting everyone that is reading this down. For letting myself down.
‘Cuz let’s face it, I wouldn’t write “Dear Abi,” if Abi sounded like a bi-polar lunatic that overdosed on crazy pills and can’t keep it together herself.
Buuuut, I’m still here … writing … and I haven’t clicked “save as draft” yet or delete. Because despite the fact that I’m sure I’ll regret puttin my vulnerabilities on blast tomorrow – yall need to see it. Not ‘cuz I’m fishing for compliements ‘cuz shiiit, I rather get complimented on my shoes. And not so yall can feel bad for me, ‘cuz shiiit I rather you feel bad that I gotta take the retarded ass MUNI home in the rain, SICK, with a broken umbrella and offer me a ride instead. But because u need to know that when yall email me and I say, “I feel u girl,” it’s for real for real. So that u can know that u really aren’t alone. So that u can know it’s OK to have a bad day. So that you believe me when I say that I was once in ur shoes. So that u know, that I do know what it feels like to have every movie, tv show, picture, holiday, song, smell, sight, sound, every memory that once made u smile – make u break down and cry. Because we all know that heartbreak is evident. It happens to the best of us.
So now I sit here, with a cold. Eyes watery and nose running. Finishing up this blog, researching business plans, and publishing houses, and completing the fundraiser programs. Doing all of that – yet still feeling like I should be doing more.
There are days when I feel like I’m Super Woman. But the reality is, I’m not. I am not more powerful than a locomotive. I cannot leap tall buildings in a single bound. Hell, I can’t even move my blog over to wordpress without getting a migraine. So I’m sorry. I can’t be your Super Woman. But mufucka, I’m a good woman. Todays just not my day.