learning how to surf

hey, ya gotta start somewhere.

are you ever so sad you can't bear to look at the unknown passerby on the subway who is giving you a slight smile? you have to turn away because if you don't turn away, you will die. you will drown.

see, it works like this:

their well-intentioned and perhaps even habitual, harmless little smirk has invisible strings that extend from the corners of their mouth and connect to your ironclad eyelids. these eyelids have, thus far, kept your tears in place...quiet...contained. if they smile, and you actually see this smile with your burning-wanting-to-cry-so-badly-it-hurts-eyes, you are doomed. (doomed, i tell you!) you see, through this complicated emotional pulley system, the slightest upward turn of the corners of their mouth will tug on these little invisible strings attached to your eyes, this minute shift will release the floodgates, and your tears will flood the entire subway platform, drowning yourself and all of the passengers.

saturday was just one of those days.

one of those days that started with the arrival of aunt flo and the discovery that you have no supplies for her visit. oh, and no toilet paper either. excellent.

one of those days spent at a work picnic with happy couples and happy families and happy couples and happy families and happy couples and happy families...did i mention there were happy couples and happy families? and you...not unhappy, but ay-lone.

one of those days when a not-not-rotund someone jested:

"ho, ho, ho, is that your second cupcake, m?"

and you have to fight the urge to tackle him, throw him into the pool, and scream,

"no! you mother-fucking asshole, that is not my second cupcake, i had half of a chocolate one, and half of a vanilla one which, you mathematical nitwit, does not equal 2, but equals 1 which, let me point out, is 14 less than the number of beers you've drunk, ya pink-faced, irish lush! but! if i wanted to sit here eating cupcakes all day long, rubbing frosting on my face, and stuffing my bra with them, i should be able to do so without eliciting any comments from you!"

one of those days when you just feel pathetic. fat. unloved. pimpled. alone. and you assume that all of these characteristics are somehow commensurate with the others i.e.

fat=unloved
pimpled=alone
alone=pathetic
unloved=pimpled
etc...etc...etc...

one of those days spent trying to shove tears back into my eyes on the train ride home. (just so you know, this doesn't work. pleading "allergies" is your best defense.)

one of those days when you have moments of just wanting to die, even if just for a little bit, or at the very least...disappear...like jeannie. poof!

one of those days when the slightly mangled, tiny pink barrette on the sidewalk makes you maudlin nostalgic for childhood summers and mom's hands braiding your hair.

one of those days when you come home to find a serendipitous package from a new friend.

here's what was inside...

Love, Loss, and What I Wore
by Ilene Beckerman

What We Do for Love
by Ilene Beckerman

Makeovers at the Beauty Counter of Happiness
by Ilene Beckerman

precisely what i needed.

one of those days that, in the olden days, would've ended with you swallowing your grief in the form of mint chocolate chip ice cream or macaroni and cheese or m&m's, or starving yourself to a place of "better."

you didn't. thank god.

instead, it became one of those days when you bathed with peony-scented body wash. you savored one perfect, chewy egg roll filled with delicate little ribbons of green cabbage and tiny red rosebuds of spicy pork. deep fried, yes, but the negatives (you hope) counteracted by lots of steamed broccoli and tofu. you gorged on these new books; illustrated reminders that we are all flawed and foibled and imperfect, and most of us manage to live a well-loved life anyway.

it was one of those days when you wept. really wept. when was the last time you wept? ohhh...it can be a wonderful thing weeping. we usually only allow ourselves a few tears and sniffles here and there. that's not enough!!! i advocate hard-core weeping. big tears that splash when they hit your hardwood floors, full-on snotty nose that will fill a hanky to capacity..

get it out, sistah. that's the only way to get on with it.

ride it.

it was just one of those days...

when instead of getting out of the water,

you sorta learned how to surf.