** Sorry about yelling. I’m also sorry about the metaphors in here. They are exhausting. You might need a nap before reading this.
Despondent.
It’s not a happy word. I’ve been there; I’ve lived it. My ex of 16 years ditched me for another, a “dear and close friend.” This was a few years back. I suppose everyone has been through this in one way or the other. When you’re going through it, though, you are the ONLY one.
I just never saw it coming. I was sporting those Clydesdale blinders whereby I saw my gay-version of the Norman Rockwell life all drawn out on fine parchment. And if it wasn’t perfect, I figured we would push through the weeds to the meadow beyond.
I’m fine now, maybe more than fine. Happy. Content. Of course, the ski slope has the occasional moguls that mess up your knees and jostle your core. But you get to the bottom of the hill and pour yourself a hot toddy. And things smooth out. And maybe next time, the bunny slope is better. (That got away from me, in a big way.)
But during my despondency, it was the first time I had actually totally comprehended the cliché, “cast adrift.” I was unmoored. In Great White-infested waters. I was the captain of a dingy dinghy, lost on the famed and much bandied about Ocean of Sad Lonely Souls. I was trying to keep the ship erect for my daughter, on the boat with me.
Let me show you that ocean in kodachrome.
Every day, oftentimes more than once I day, I visited this ridiculous, but sort of a ritual at the time, website where you virtually throw runes (http://www.facade.com/runes/), because I needed answers. Runes give you a little synpopsis on what the future holds, based on the pagan alphabet. I needed to know.
Isn’t this the cooler version of the Magic 8 ball? In essence, I needed to know that I am THE WEEBLE. That when I dragged my tattered craft up the shore, I would teeter upright. With a bonked head, no doubt. With scratches on my polycarbonate body, of course. But swaying back and forth, on my wide base. More or less upright and centered. Okay enough to find the weight of my center.
So that was too many damn metaphors mixed up together and for that I apologize.
But those electronic runes give you this cryptic reading of your future. And here I was, in the bottom of the toilet bowl of life, not sleeping, unable to choke down food. (And I am an eater. I love delicious vittles of the world.)
And I was abusing my friends by spilling my guts non-stop. You know who you are and I am eternally grateful to you.
I lost the ability to smile.
If only those runes could have shown me the Today Me. And here on this rainy New Years’s day in 2013, I’ve spent the morning snuggled on the couch, murdering brain cells by swilling grapefruit mimosas and watching a marathon of _Storage Wars_. The gas logs in the stone hearth are cranking out the cozy; the fat Maine Coons are oozing off the top of the couch; and Kate has crock-potted some pork, kraut, apples, beer, and other savories. The house smells divine.
And I stood on my new glass and chrome smart-scale, this morning, mad at myself for gaining some pounds. And that made me grouchy, an ingrate. It took a moment of huffing about the house for the contrast to kick in.
Why was I all huffy? And then, what a luxury to be huffy about a little chub-flub.
Isn’t food and sleeping what life is all about after all? With moderation of course.
I’m chubby because I’m content. And as a result, I had the luxury of being a big grouch. I needed to stop a moment, take it all in, and see the big picture of my life, relish what that extra blubber symbolizes. Breathe the gratitude in and out.
My wish for my Weeble-self never included the literal shape. But if I’m centered in my core, I need to just take the whole deal.
Because it sure is a hell of a lot sweeter than the alternative.
