Damn yo. It’s been a rough one.
I was once standing in the frozen food aisle when I saw a child, about three years old, pitch himself down onto the ground. He lay there, kicking and yelling and screaming and wailing. And his beautiful, well put together mother put down her basket, lay down beside him, and began doing the exact same thing. Flailing her arms, kicking her legs, losing a shoe, gurgling and whooping. The child stood up and watched her. Then she stood up, and they walked away.
Some part of my psyche has thrown itself on that frozen food aisle floor and proceeded to throw a wretched, dry heaving, screeching, inconsolable fit that no amount of yoga, mindfullness or alcohol can take out of my system. I have been screaming and railing against everyone and everything, resentful and hurtful and hellz bellz babes, I’ve been mean.
Worst yet, I felt like I’ve been watching myself pitch a hissy like that resourceful mom in the grocery store, waiting to throw my other half down, nails dragging on windows to lay disconsolate and pathetic on the floor.
Ladies and gents. If we’re so grown up – what the hell is with this? Why can I write reams on historical materialsm, sew bedcovers, do basic math, feed a small army, hold down a good job and then turn into a wailing, thrashing, inconsolable banshee-bitch when I find there is no food in the fridge (again) ?
Why, dear readers, can I not walk myself to the grocery store and act like a grown ass woman in the frozen food aisle?