December 14, 2006

And You Thought I Had My Tear Ducts Removed

Posted in Uncategorized at 6:38 pm by devilwearsbrooksbrothers

As you know, I am typically really good at leaving my work at the office.  However, last week I had a very miserable day.  I can’t really put my finger on exactly what set it off, and even if I could I wouldn’t do it here.  It wasn’t even lunchtime and I was ready to call it a day.  I persevered, just knowing that once I got outside to the near freezing conditions, I would be okay.

But I wasn’t okay.  I kept running the events of the day through my head and asking myself why it mattered so much and then other things that didn’t happen that day came into mind, and suddenly I was wondering why I cared that my high school’s valedictorian can’t admit she is a doctor in front of her husband and my vision was getting dark around the corners. 

One time this happened before, I decided to go for a run.  Typically I run in the morning. It wakes me up and gives me a chance to organize my day and plan my outfit.  However, on this occasion I decided I could use some time on the treadmill to release my pent up frustration in a healthy way; and not in a way that would leave my roommates angry at me.

You may have heard in the past that exercise if a great way to get rid of aggression.  I am here to tell you, if you have a lot of aggression, this is a very, very dangerous practice.  I got to the gym, changed into shorts, climbed on my favorite running machine and started at an above average pace for myself.  And at first it felt really good. 

But then my mind drifted back to the events of the day and my finger found the pace increase button.  A few moments later that same finger found that same button. An hour and a half later I nearly fell getting off the machine.  Sure, emotionally my head was all clear, but the next day, I was limping around the office.

So, when I got home, I went to my room, turned out the lights and got into bed, shoes and all.  I thought maybe if I could trick my body into thinking the day was over, it would get over the day.  No such luck.   

Lauren came up to let me know that she was leaving to pick up her brother.  I heard the door close and that is when it happened.  I started to cry. 

Yeah, this might not seem like such a big deal to you out there in cyberspace but it is a huge deal for me.  I hate crying.  It probably goes back to my ancestors in Russia who I am sure got frostbite on their cheeks from crying and subconsciously, the hatred has carried down through the generations.  Well, that and my sister once told me I was an ugly crier and I hate looking ugly.

So to say I am not much of a crier would be the runner-up for “Understatement of 2006.”  Is this the first time I have cried? Certainly not. I just told you my sister thinks I look ugly when I do it, so clearly I have done it before.

This was the first time I didn’t fight it, though.  And you know what, it actually worked.  Not only did I feel better, but it is more efficient than exercising. By the time my roommate returned with her brother for dinner, my make- up was re-applied and I had a fresh outfit on and a glass of wine in my hand.

Why am I sharing this with all of you?  Because over the next few weeks, you may find your life is really out of control.  You may feel anxious and overwhelmed. You may not be able to concentrate. You will need a release and my suggestion to you is to cry out loud.  Whimper, sob, moan, groan, dirty a dozen Kleenex. 

Just make sure you do it when no one is around, because if you are caught, they will point and laugh and that will only make you cry harder.  Unless your friends are kinder than mine.


1 Comment »

  1. Captain Commoner said,

    Sorry you had such a bad couple of days. Pointing and laughing is not cool — at least not while the afflicted person’s going through what they’re going through. Plus, it’s probably not a good idea to do to someone who’s tough enough that she can breeze through an hour-and-a-half’s worth of uninterrupted semi-sprinting like it’s nothing. Ouch.

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