I almost did something crazy tonight. I have been toying with the idea for months, but this was the first time that I came truly close to doing it. I was minutes from reaching home – Adele bellowing in my ears – when it suddenly occurred to me: I’m on the right bus, the timing is perfect…why the hell not?! All I needed was a glance. One miserable glance. No, I would not disturb the scene. I would be inconspicuous, quiet as a mouse. Honestly, if I had just sat on the bus for 20 more minutes, I would be guaranteed that, and my curiosity would be satisfied forever. I would not be happy I did it, but I would be happy I’ve done it. Yes, there’s a difference. But…it would also doubtlessly result in one thunderous crack resonating from within my chest and an actual, honest to goodness memory that would forever be emblazoned in my mind. Do I want that? …NO. So I got off the bus. I did not continue the journey to Pathetic-Loserville. I went home.
A lot is going on. Nothing is going on. A whole lot of nothing is going on.
I quit my job. I’m sleeping all through the night. I rekindled my relationship with religion. I have had long, relaxing sessions of pilates and long, relaxing showers with my cranberry scrub. I take 4km walks. I eat scrambled eggs made with sour cream. I’m addicted to Breaking Bad. I took an Excel class and had lunch with cute 19-year-old boys. I bought $200 worth of clothing from asos.com. My eyelid is no longer twitching. But I do still cry a lot. And I sure as hell scream at inanimate objects (when they fall out of my hands; when they malfunction; when they stab me) a lot.