Why it Takes Falling Apart to Keep it Together
By charlotteslittleweb on September 04, 2014
It starts with something small and not directly in your control. Small, but still relevant. You get a flat tire, your toilet overflows, an unexpected bill slides into your mailbox and so on and so on. Usually, you would just chalk this up to a bump in the road of your otherwise pretty great life. But with the delivery of this particularly unpleasant present also comes a slight shift in the air. It's subtle but palpable and that inner voice that we all try
to hush whispers, "A storm is coming."
Oh crap. Grab your umbrella.
The next few days are filled with all kinds of fun. You get to work just in time to be blindsided by your boss who wants to discuss why you have been doing a crap job lately when, all along, you thought you were doing just fine. Then your boss proceeds to praise your least favorite coworker right in front of you. Really? You're doing worse than 'Pervert Pat'? Crap this is gonna be a bad day.
So you take a coffee break to shake off the frustration and just as soon as you get that latte out the door, it decides to make it's new home on your cream colored cardigan instead of your mouth.
This is about the time you realize that your inner voice can be a real bitch. An honest one, but still a bitch.
You deal with a full week of these joyful events and, at the end of it, you have never been so happy to see a Monday morning in your life. You are ready for a new and immensely improved week.
For whatever ingenious reason, you decide to start this new and improved Monday by stepping on the scale.
I mean, you have been eating leaves with every meal, drinking so much water that every bathroom attend in town is now invited to your birthday party and devouring such large amounts of chicken breast that you now cluck in your sleep. So the proof has to be in the non-dairy pudding you've been choking down on your "special treat" nights.
You confidently hop on the devil we all know is disguised as a cold plastic appliance and wait for validation. You've gained 3.9 pounds. You immediately round that up to 19 pounds. Yes, you have managed to gain 19 pounds in 7 days all while gnawing on a bush like Bambi and avoiding anything that looks like bread could be in it and your beloved nightly beer(s) or glass(es) of wine.
What in the full-fat-fudge kind of sick joke is this?!
Then you remember you were warned that a storm was coming, not just a light sprinkle. So you decide that if you are going to endure this shit storm, you aren't going to do it alone. Tortilla chips and booze get to come along for the ride too. Self control can suck it for all you care.
Before you can even register what is happening, you find yourself sitting on the couch a bottle and a half of wine deep, with a judgmental bag of almost empty Hot Cheetos and you are using the neon bikini bottoms you wore in 2009 to dry your tears.
To put it mildly, things aren't going well.
This is what my life has felt like for the last few weeks. What can go wrong, will go really wrong. The worst thing about these times in our lives is that we never see them coming. And as soon as our physical world begins to crumble, our emotional world quickly catches the scent.
The universe decides this would be a great time to send people your way with all the wrong questions you just can't wait to answer. So when are you getting married? Do you plan on getting engaged? Have you bought a house? Are you going to rent forever? How old are you now? Do you even want kids? Are you going to go back to school? Is "waitressing" considered a career nowadays?
Not only to they have these awesome questions but they also have a personal arsenal of back-handed compliments. At least it's cool in Hollywood to never get married. I guess it's nice to have so little to clean when you live in an apartment. You look great!.. I can't believe your going to be 30 soon. How fun to be a waitress! It must suck to know you will be working every weekend for the rest of your life. Don't worry, lots of women are "old" moms these days. You know I have a friend who has a friend who had a perfectly healthy baby at forty-seven.
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