I think I’ve finally learned: vacationing in Colorado is comparable to shooting an arrow through my Achilles heel. I mean this figuratively, but since I tore my actual Achilles this weekend, the metaphor seems pretty apropos.
Against medical advice, I’ll probably cut off my cast tonight, take a long bath, do some damage control on my bank account, and try to piece my life back together. But right now, you can call me Eeyore, because I gots some serious rain clouds. Call me Debbie Downer. Somebody call the Whambulance. I just got back from a beautiful ranch in Aspen with my best friends, and I’m feeling sorry for myself.
This is a happiness project, I haven’t forgotten that. But for this project to be successful, it has to make me a better, happier person, and I can’t just do it for other people. I could sugar coat it all, and say I had a perfect time in Aspen. I would be lying, but that would probably make people a lot happier.
Right now, I’m not fucking happy. Right now, I’m having a giant pity party.
As of late, being in Boulder has been like ripping off ten bandaids I totally forgot about. Each time I visit, the streets remind me of how much everything has changed. I am no longer my group of guys friends’ surrogate little sister. I’m a college memory. When I retrace my steps on Pearl Street, or on campus, I find that my eighteen-year old naivete is harder to grasp, time seems more slippery, and the college students look even younger.
In these moments, I silently hope that my old friends are proud of me. Despite myself, I love them still. It’s too hard for me to accept the fact that my friends aren’t the people I knew. It’s hard for me to accept that we can’t be friends with each other in the same way.
Which brings me to now, a few hours off the plane from Denver. Today, my Mom declined to pick me up at the airport, opting to go gamble at the casino instead. Today, I had to ask people I really didn’t want to ask, to do basic things for me, like carry my bags. Today, I tried to keep a positive attitude, but inevitably thought of all the inconveniences this injury could bring. What about work?…
On days like today, when I haven’t showered in two days and I wore my makeup to sleep… On a day like today, when I’m dragging around a severed ankle bound in a splint, and am shouldering some hefty unexpected medical bills… On a day like today, when my sisters are mad at me, and my Dad tells me I can’t sleep at my apartment because something is wrong with the water… When I’ve been toothpaste thumbing it for two days, and have atrocious post-partying morning breath still… When I am nursing a hangover of unanswered text messages to college friends…
On days like today, I just want someone to trace his fingers on my back and tell me he loves me. And if I wanted to be sad, he would let me be sad. If I wanted to cry about being immobile again and feeling unsure about things, he would just hug me close and reassure me with his words. He would tell me I was beautiful, perfect, and doing a great job. I’m not saying I need this, but sometimes, don’t you just want someone there? Isn’t it natural, at least, sometimes?
My friend told someone once, that where guys were concerned, I was a “free spirit.” Not in a promiscuous way, rather in a “I don’t give a fuck about guys” way. Well, sometimes, I just want someone to care about me that way.
And sometimes I don’t. But on days like today, I’m tired of hoping that some day, someone will look at me that way again. On days like today, I’m tired of thinking too much. I’m tired of hurting over people.
Talk to me tomorrow. I’ll be all rainbows and butterflies, promise. But today, for no momentous reason, today let me be sad.