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Dangerous Compassions

over-sad

How could my day be so bad.  Woke up sad and in pain, crying and scared.  I’m having problems with my neck and shoulders.  I know it’s stress, and my phone.  My phone is bad for my body.  I kinda want to throw it in a lake.

I was crying again at the soupline, serving bread.  My friend greeted me so warmly.  It felt so good, I couldn’t take it.  I was telling him in my head how nice it is, and I wasn’t able to tell him with my words.  Maybe one day.

Then I was checking in and started crying again, at the Friday meeting.  I said I was sorry I can’t do much, lately.  I said I feel bad.  People looked at me like they loved me but said nothing.

Ming and I went to the farmers market.  The artist wasn’t there–I had brought him a zine.  I was kind of rude to someone selling honey.  I don’t need honey.  Ming bought some special bread.  They were doing some loud cooking demonstration, and it was overwhelming.

Lots of other stuff happened.  I freaked out for a while, super angry.  My friend called, and she said it was good I can be angry–she can’t be angry.

R walked in while Ming was unloading the dishwasher.  If you know Ming, you know that nothing puts him on edge like dishes, laundry, and trash.  So R left and I walked in, and Ming was on his last nerve.

I tried to calm him down.  I told him it was ok.  I touched his tummy.  I agreed with his sad ideas.  I listened to him cry.  Poor sweetie.  I told him it’s a hard day, but there will be better days.

We have a flat tire.  The door is open, and I’m listening to the tow truck driver out front. 

The computer isn’t so good for my neck pain either.  It’s to the point where nothing I do is right.  Everything hurts me.  I know exercise is about the only good thing.  Sleep can help, since I calm down in my sleep.

I kinda want to give up on this day, but jeeze.  It isn’t even 4 yet.

Whatever you came here for, probably you didn’t get it.  Sorry about that, reader.  Well, maybe you needed to see a soul sadder than yourself.  There you go–Bob’s your uncle.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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