Why, hello there Bottom. I was wondering when you would show up. How interesting. It seems being in a freefall for long enough begins to make hitting the rocks sound like a release- if only just so everything will STOP for a moment and I can pull my stomach from my trachea and shove it back down to near where it once belonged.
I say “once belonged” because really, with three babies and emotional eating, my stomach seems to belong spread all over my whole body. But that aside, I do want it dislodged from my throat.
21 months. Twenty one months. Twenty. One. Months. twentyonemonths.
And the truth is, it’s been hard for longer than that- that number, 21 months, is just the amount of days tears hours aches sorrows since the job was lost. January of ’08. Yup. Almost two years. 641 days. 15,348 hours. Give or take. You know how it is. Hold on- I feel a Rent medley coming on…
If you think this is a lead up to a happy ending, Ha! I’m afraid I’m going to smash you on my rocks. Nope. No happy endings here. Got lotsa pain. Want some? It’s free. I’ve got tears, and anger, and sadness, and anxiety. Any of those sound good? I’ve got 15K in hours of hurt logged. I’m tapping out.
Houston. Houston, Houston, Houston. I’m tapping my worn ruby slippers together baby…. take me home.
Oh, and it’s my birthday today.