If you would have told me two years ago that one day in my not so distant future I would feel an incredible propensity to throw myself to the ground crying, kicking and screaming, I would have thought you were nuts.
Some days I feel that urge no less than 20 times. It’s surprisingly easy to imagine, and physically hurts a lot less this way…says a friend. Anyway. I can see myself in my mind’s eye having a full on, snot dripping from the nose, feet flailing to and fro, head thrashing, fists beating the floor melt down. One that would rival Ozzy Osbourne in his serious head-banging days. There is something in that physical response that causes an emotional release–I really think the metal heads might be on to something.
I have learned one major thing from this reality of mine:
We are all just one really bad day or moment away from becoming the craziest, worst, most immature version of ourself. A person whom you never thought you could possibly become.
ZING! There you are: raw, tender, and flailing. Without warning, signs, or symbols, I can suddenly became a grown toddler-lady.
As it would be on any journey, a hard turn, a “one-eighty”, is gonna shake things loose, dust is gonna kick up, it’s gonna be a bit bumpy, uncertain, and scary–certainly not clean. I used to have a lot of shame associated with this kind of frustration and anger. But, dammit, Zack’s life is worth throwing at least one good fit over. So is mine- and Charley’s to boot.
I may have already reached my quota.
Nevertheless, onward ho.