I am toxic. I don't know how I turned a poor night of sleep and a long morning in the sun into an aching shared misery, but I did. I am the alchemist who made a slight trip off balance into a fight. I am the jackass who reacted to my inability to synthesize and express my needs by hitting my thighs in anger and bursting into tears and letting you drive away.
I remain needy but unintelligible until the door shuts and then I am a waterworks of frustration and regret and Oh, I just want to run to you, but I can't--I am still without a car for another few days. And I want to call you, but I can't--I know enough to recognize that a goodbye like that needs to be burned off by time and will only be made more painful by incoherent semi-declarations into a phone. I will only be saying 'I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry' and this does not change the fact that I opened my mouth in the first place.
My bike's locked up at work and I am afraid I've messed today up beyond salvage, but maybe the way to give myself a fighting chance would be to walk across town to get my bike and then pound back up and down the hills until I'm home and a little tireder and a little less fixated on my self-inflicted emotional bruises and a little more fixated on the tension and release in the muscles of my legs.
I think the problem is that my mind and spirit can't always hold up under the weight I place on my body, and I am so, so, so sorry that sometimes when I'm panicked and flailing, my flying fears bruise you, too.
I keep saying I will be ok. I will be. I am a whole barrel of resilience. That's not the issue, though.
That's not an excuse.
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