I have an annual cry-fest. Normal people, I’m coming to realize, have a good cry more routinely. Maybe a few minutes and then, they feel better and move on. Not me. Those other occasions that undoubtedly coax tears from others? I overlook those slights, those rejections, losses. I stuff those feelings down. Writer Augusten Burroughs has said, “I hate feelings. Why does sobriety have to come with feelings?”
I used to try to drown my feelings but it turns out, those fuckers can swim. So, I stopped drinking. The feelings came and often, I told myself I was too busy to deal with them.
What inevitably happens is that eventually, all of the feelings catch up. They don’t do this when I have time or when it’s convenient. I begin to cry as if something terrible has happened. And it has - an accumulation of a small, terrible somethings. Only recently, I’ve had 2 incidents - August & October. When this happens - I’m inconsolable and irrational. On Monday, I was irrational and inconsolable.
Today is Wednesday and I’m not crying but I’m hair trigger irrational. Sensitive.
Andrea and I have been watching the TV show suits. We’re on season 4. If you’re not familiar, the setting of the show is at a large New York law firm. Talk about a grind - long hours, ruthless colleagues, the patriarchy. There is also a strong display of matriarchy as well, which doesn’t look more appealing but perhaps these characters hold lessons. In a recent episode, Louis, a complex character that I can’t quite bring myself to hate is discovered by Katrina Bennett, writing in his diary.
“Isn't that what your dictaphone is for?” Katrina
“No, my dictaphone is for my singular triumphs, like when Harvey told me I was the man, and my diary is for my most agonizing defeats, such as when Jessica just told me I'll never make name partner.” Louis explains.
“Louis, she didn't say that.” Katrina.
“Well, she might as well have. She just gave Malone the corner office.”
Katrina considers this, speaking with Louis a moment, then tells Louis, “You're gonna stop writing in that pussy diary….” Before launching into what action he should take.
Writing in my pussy diary (diaries) is the way I unpack things and try to make sense of it. I pushe the pieces around, rearranging them.
My energy has been off and I’m hoping to restore homeostasis. On my drive to western MA today, the route spits me into NJ - and less than 5 minutes from the home of my starter spouses mom’s house. It’s disconcerting - this realization I’m in this strange & once familiar land. The hill rises in front of me and the trees are blazing in shades of orange. I don’t feel anything, except maybe gratitude towards a bossy, strong, woman who showed me a different view and planted seeds that bloomed like an errant bulb. When I roll into Western, MA the trees are much more show offy against the backdrop of the grey sky.
The guy with golden retrievers called Andrea. Sure - his sign goes give off some serial killer vibes in the way there is no phone number and an address that serves as a 2nd location that Dateline warns against. It turns out that Amos is a Mennonite - so likely not a serial killer. Our area of the northern neck is full of Mennonite’s and I like the idea of a Mennonite dog. Only Andrea and I are taking turns traveling so we will have to coordinate a trip to Amos’s 2nd location. When I get in the hotel elevator in Lenox, MA, this is the face that’s staring at me.
I texted it to Andrea who replies, “Fucking Murphy.” Indeed.