Grief can hit you anywhere. Just like diarrhea. The holidays are always particularly difficult but this year went smoother than most. I wasn't side swiped by a breakdown.
As a matter of fact it was quite the opposite. I had lucked out on a little time off from both jobs, had some good ME time complete with bad decisions and hangovers as far as the eye could see. Yet, something lingered. The perfect storm perhaps?
A couple years ago I was side swiped by a left hook of emotion at a traffic intersection.
This year? It was the week after Christmas. At the gym during a totally sick weight lifting session on chest. In the middle of all my testosterone-induced man-rage and awesomeness I felt my eyes well. With anger.
Then sadness.
I finished up my session and stretched while fighting off alligator tears the entire time.
I got in my car and broke the hell down. My toughness displayed in the gym was now a liquid pile of goo that just wanted to be held and for someone to understood what I felt and that it wasn't fair. --- Some rocking me might have been quite pleasant too.
It was the kind of cry that no sound comes out. Just silent, awkward facial movements and deep gasps for air.
I've come to the conclusion that time does not heal all wounds.
Time is like that one junk closet that every one has in their house. You stuff random shit in there because there's no where else for it to go but you can't throw it away. But you know one day, inevitably you have to clean that fucking closet out.
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