one of those days...

...when you feel like no one sees you, or when they see you, they're rude.

...when it rains, and you have no umbrella but everyone else in this city seems to have a golf-sized one and absolutely no problem clipping you in the face with it's metal talons without so much as a "sorry," and it feels personal, like god chose this weather because he knew it would piss you off because you must have done something wrong once that you don't even remember, but you're sure it was something you did, something you ate, some thought you thunk, some booger you picked then wiped under your school desk when you were in Mrs. McClane's 1st grade class because you just didn't feel like walking up to her desk for a tissue.

THIS

IS

YOUR

PUNISHMENT.

...when the guy behind you in line at Duane Reade sighs dramatically, and says, "oh c'mon!" as you take a wee bit too long for his taste removing money from your purse. normally, you'd just ignore it and seethe, but something about the events of today make you look him straight in the eye and say,

"if it's a problem, you can move to another register."

"really?"

"yes, really." would you like a fucking escort?

maybe it's because i'm wearing all black, you think. i must just blend in. or maybe it's because i have suddenly become ugly and fat and so that's why everyone's being so awfully rude to me today.

that is what i do on days like today. if i can't make sense of other people's crappy behavior towards me, i assume that it's about me and some horrid flaw i have that is inspiring their behavioral vomit to land on my shoes. i know many folks who do this, and it varies as to what that imagined flaw might be. for me, and this'll come as no big shock, it's most frequently a physical flaw i imagine is encouraging these people to put on their meanypants.

blaming the body. exhausting. silly, maybe, but it's typical of so many of us folks who've struggled with eating issues and body image. i've done it for years, and it's a testament to my progress and healing that i really only do it on the shittiest of days anymore (midsummer 90 degree days count as "shittiest" too). days like today...when teenagers on the train ride home make fun of my all-black waitressing clothes:

look, she even has a black umbrella to match.

maybe, no...absolutely, it has nothing to do with you and your perfectly imperfect person, and everything to do with the shitty weather and that person's failing marriage, and that person's blister, and that teenage kid's pregnancy scare, and that guy who just got smacked in the face with a gigantic golf umbrella two minutes before you stood in line together at the Duane Reade, and all he wanted was a pack of cigarettes.

so, no. like most people's reactions, it had nothing to do with you and everything to do with their own internal scheisse, but still...no one could blame you if a little schadenfreude smirk did slide across your face when that guy asked for a pack of Newport Lights, and the clerk behind the counter replied:

"we're out."