Crying Over Spilt Milk
I felt like that is what I was doing/did when I got in the car after leaving the New Balance Outlet store and looked down to find half of my poor fingernails literally bent upwards and the other half cracking at the base of the nailbed.
I had held it together in the store when I overheard a little girl making quizzical statements about whether or not I was a boy or a girl, which is fair to question; I do look a little androgynous these days.
Then the moment one of my “mad-at-the-world” jams came on, I lost it. Like ugly cry, big boohoos, and heavy sighing. I even almost missed a green light and got beeped at by the person behind me. I opened the sunroof to feel the sun beating down from above and put my sunglasses on to hid the tears from other motorists (like they care). For a split second I thought about turning conveniently into McDonalds and purchasing a $1 sundae to wipe my blues away, but decided against it. I have been very mindful about not self-medicating with food or eating my feelings. But, DAMN….a sundae would have been nice.
As my mind flitted from the girl’s comments to my nails and then ultimately to the ice cream, I became deeply aware of why I was so upset. It wasn’t the nails or the fact that I look androgynous. In this moment I was flat out angry. And I am still angry. I’m angry that this isn’t over....and the prolonged effects are razor-blade reminders of this fact.….can’t this just be over? I want to scream sometimes that THIS IS SO NOT FAIR. And No…it is not over little girl, fierce lady, powerful woman....That is not how this really works.
So in a split second (or actually several minutes later) I reminded myself that I needed to put my big girl undies on and stop crying over spilt milk. This is ridiculous! Get it together kid!
And so I did.