I’ve been hurting. A frustrating un-balm-able emotional pain that has run the gamut from a self-pitying ‘Why me?!’ to the current iteration in which I crack dark jokes to myself about the blistered chafing space on my heart that’s so achy.
The good news is I don’t hurt all the time. It takes the drive home from work and then a little bit until my genuine joy comes peeking out from her hiding space, finds the dark shadows gone and starts to blithely play again. I love that moment. Even more than I love the end of each nauseatingly undesirable work day, I love that moment when my spirit recovers and says very clearly with her eyes-closed, arms out, spin til you’re dizzy dancing that there are no hard feelings.
Which is in its own funny way the ‘problem.’
No, I don’t want to be sadder, but that same obliterating happiness seems to numb me to the fact that I am still working at that place. Thus every morning it is an awful not-quite surprise that I have to go back. Sometimes it is a surprise that I get in my car and go at all; that I show up and do what I am supposed to do (I am told) with reasonable competence. All the while counting every minute and trying to figure out how to overcome the bone deep shocked-sorrowful-anger-sludge that permeates and slows my very existence while I am there.
I am grateful that I have a sanctuary, and hopes and dreams to run home to, and family and friends to call. I am so glad that I finally grew a soul (and some metaphorical stones) to not let some petty dumb shit, like a bad job ruin everything. I can still (vividly, bitterly) remember when that would not have been the case. I am lucky that my little, temporarily malfunctioning life is still enormous and beautiful even next to irrational terror of this hideously poor fit that takes up most of my waking hours.
If there is a ‘Divine’ (big ‘D’ intentional) I wonder if it might be this. This reservoir that floats those in painful situations that might not have an expiration date. Certainly, it seems such trials are exactly what faith (small ‘f’ intentional) is for.
And so here I place this gentle reminder, I have to go to work tomorrow. I’ll make-up more bitter nursery rhymes and songs of acid and vitriol to get me through the other days that I committed to. Because I’m a sucker and because I don’t have another job yet. Somewhere, in the middle of a cup of tea, I will feel the pang of how privileged I am to have a job, that pays decent money. Even one that I hate. And to live in a country where I can publicly hate it. My naive joy will hide all day, but I will here her tinkling bell giggles now and then through the hours, because tomorrow is Friday and she has a whole weekend to swirl, and dance, and play.