It’s noontime and I already feel ready to go back to bed. I’ve got a case of freaky Fridays: that last day of work and stress before some time off on the weekend, and yet…
I tried straightening my hair this morning. And, if you’ve ever seen a photo of my hair, you know it’s kind of a crazy, wavy mess. It has a mind of its own. I don’t know why I thought today was a good day to tame it. I failed, not badly, but enough. Then I got so angry that I threw my hairbrush on the bathroom floor hard enough to break it.
(In the irony that it my life, a little girl told me she really liked my hair as I walked into the grocery story this morning. I wish she had been with me a hour earlier when I was sitting on the edge of the tub, crying from frustration.)
B and I also danced around a reoccurring hard conversation this morning. While private, I will say that it’s difficult to always feel like the bad guy.
And when I (finally) came into work, my close colleague all but said that I wasn’t around this morning when she really, really needed support and she felt let down — which was also exactly when I was home crying about my hair and dwelling on couple stuff.
I find myself on the brink of tearing up this week.
“It’s hard being a human.” I heard that come up from an actor once, when talking about their role as the police officer in William Eno’s Middletown. (It’s a beautiful, modern take on Thornton Wilder’s Our Town.) It’s easy as an outsider to make a judgement on someone when you see them in a less-than-glorious moment in their life; you may not understand, though, that that’s simply someone’s really bad day. We all have them, those freaky Fridays. You hate being in the midst of them, but forget, when you’re in the clear, that the wave has hit someone else instead.
The last time I wore this dress, I felt light and happy.
Today, I pulled it off a pile of clothes in the bedroom. It passed the sniff-test. I think that’s as good I’ll get today while waiting for the dark cloud to pass.