Summer is here.
Time for the blog’s warm weather pedicure.
I don’t know what happened to Spring; I have my suspicions. I’ve gone from wearing my down jacket two weeks ago, to my fleece last week, to a tank top and 82 degrees today. For those of you who enjoy seasons that last roughly 3-4 months, this next week will seriously mess you up. We will be enjoying temperatures in the 30’s, the 40’s, the 50’s, the 60’s and the 70’s. One by one, my co-workers and I are hauling our snow gear out to take up space in the trunks of our cars. No one wants to be the first to take everything home and jinx the rest of us. Don’t laugh! The year I moved here it snowed on Memorial Weekend.
Life is starting to settle into a kind of rhythm. No, not like crickets and Long Island Iced Tea. Think more like twenty-four hours with Jim Carrey.
Last week showed me a side of myself that is taking me awhile to work out. I’ve actually contacted a therapist here in town, acknowledging I just can’t work through all of this on my own. It’s wearisome to realize that the skills I’ve honed, the tools I’ve used to survive my whole life are not only ineffectual, but perhaps even offensive to my own brother. It highlights the strangeness of feeling an instant kinship/intimacy with the complete stranger who is your closest living blood relative.
I could really use a beach right now.
Just set my Kombucha down by me and keep moving. I have a lot to think about.
A really wonderful blog post about releasing shame by no longer hiding your truth, speaks to how important it is to embrace the uncovering of hidden parts of yourself. While I highly recommend the read over at TinyBuddha, the read is much easier than the do. I’ve been scrupulously open with my brother, determined to do this thing right. What I wasn’t prepared for is my need to protect myself when I reach a certain level of well, nakedness, for lack of a better term. I don’t like feeling naked. I don’t think it’s my best side. I get nervous, and when I get nervous I talk fast. I say stuff off the top of my head and work as hard as I can to stay several steps ahead of the conversation. I need to rebuild that girl, clothe her, cover her back up. This becomes especially problematic when my problem solving skills kick in. That’s when I tell you what you’re thinking.
He called me on it. He called me on it, and it hurt. Because I haven’t known him my entire life, I can’t read him. Because we mostly text, I don’t even have tone to go by. I was chagrined by how difficult it was for me to handle. A droplet of criticism. A man I’ve never met. Pass the Fireball, no, no glass, just hand over the bottle.