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When it’s acceptable to ugly-cry in Walmart…

So, here’s the thing.

uglycryThere are occasions where it is, I’m certain, perfectly acceptable to have an ugly cry in Walmart.

*shifty eyes*

Here’s the other thing…having an ugly cry in Walmart offered up some wonderful “in-my-head” ponderings that I’m going to need to take some time to process.

How it all went down:

1. I’m a furckin’ ball of suck. Well, my body is. That leads to my emotions also being a furckin’ ball of suck. That leads to sneaking onto the internet to surf…astronomy.

2. I’m tired. I”m so tired, in fact, that I wish I didn’t have to breathe, because breathing is exhausting.

3. I’m triggered. Still. Not just by men who do fucktard-ery things to women, but the good men…the honest men…the ones who should be telling these fucktard-ery men to own their shit and get some fucking therapy. World, this convo shit ain’t going to come from…women.

4. I’m behind on the “Everything.” Small things, big things…whatever. This occurred to me as I was bee-lining through Costco AND Walmart in an attempt to get All of The Things. But forgot to make the gingers’ doctor appointments. And, forgot to call back the dermatologist’s office.

On my last turn ’round the produce section, I spied the table of poppies. Further still, I saw both an elderly gentleman AND an elderly woman. Both dressed in military finest. I dug into my wallet for my last five bucks and went to get a poppy and say a courteous and well meant, “Thank you.”

What transpired, in reality, was that as I approached the table, the elderly gentleman picked up a poppy and turned ’round its corner with the intention of pinning it on to my lapel. I like when they do this. So much respect from veterans who have it ten-fold from the rest of us.

I’m not sure what in his eyes did me in. They were blue. Milky-blue, in the way the aged develop. I choked out a “Tha-k you.” All I got. All he said was, “Thank you.” The leaking started from my ocular orbs and I held his eyes in my own the entire time he was pinning that poppy on to the lapel of my sweater. His eyes never left mine and they were beginning to leak. The one thing he’d managed to whisper was, “…such a beautiful creature…”

He turned quickly. I gathered he’d felt some kind of emotion to match my own.

Thing is, I don’t quite know why I had that kind of response. I’m used to this. My father is a retired Brigadier-General in the RCAF. I’m a “military brat.” I *get* Remembrance Day and of watching officers co-ordinate and of soldiers grieve. This was somehow personal.

So, as my snotty nose and my leaking orbs betrayed my composure, I found the longest line possible in the attempt to garner some friggin’ inner-fucking-calm.

I’m tired. I’ve often been wondering about a concept that has been spinning around in my brain…

I’ve been pondering my ROI.

My “Return on Investment.”

My “Is it worth it?”

“…a beautiful creature…” 

Such an odd word…“creature”…but oddly enough, matches my “Me.” at this point in time. It matches my pain and longing to be “out there”…it matches my ponderings of what, exactly, I am…what is it that I bring to the “Everything.”??

Because, peeps…I sure as shit am not seeing a favourable forecast in the numbers as at today’s date.

Thusly (oh, how I told you thusly…), I continue to seek out what, exactly, is my/are my assets that I bring to the “Everything.” What makes it “worth it?”

Enduring my endurance…persevering my perseverance…resiling my resilience…(no, not a word)…

In searching within the escapism that I enter when the reality is simply too much to shoulder, I looked to fun things that I could use as a mantra…or, a concept…something that would add to “Me.” that I could use to help me find and seek some inner therapy about some of my darker emotions.

Because, hey…if you’re having an ugly cry in Walmart, you might be a wee more cray-cray than bubble wrap can manage. 😉

Well, The Impossible Girl is taken, right? So, I’m asserting myself into

“The I’mpossible Girl.”


Peeps, if I can loathe this stupid carcass that cannot comply on a near-daily basis and still get out of bed in the morn’…if I can find #gladitude in something like a ladybug or within the Cosmos itself (the good one)…if I can keep on keepin’ on despite the constant fucking fear of having another heart attack because I somehow manage both Costco AND Walmart on the same damn day…if I can use art to heal and geekdom to escape…

…I am already redefining what it is to be chronically ill.

By the very token of the compliments and encouragements…I’d say that I’m verily exemplifying the very definition that I’m sure-as-shit possible.

But, “Is it worth it?”

I…I don’t know how to process that yet. I’m heart-hurt. I’m emotionally let-down. I’ve got my bloodline to keep me tied to the reality but nary the outlet to be *heard*to express it…

I tell you one thing, though, my lovely peeps…

There is an elderly gentleman, in military finest, who absolutely believes that it was.


1 Comment

  1. Heidi

    I am lucky, I can have my ugly cry every morning when I hit work, and most mornings I do. No one is here yet (that is why I am here early) and I can cry and re-compose myself before anyone comes, so that I do not have to explain myself to anyone, not even my wonderful Husband. I have many cries during shows on TV, during commercials, hell almost anything can make me cry, it seems to be my release from the frustration of my own pain and trying to get by as best I can. I hear you Pattie, and yes the military man with the blue eyes was correct… you are worth it, it is worth it and I love you for it.

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