Friday, August 9, 2013
This is what happens when the lights are off...
i can't get to sleep. which is especially frustrating, considering i didn't get much sleep last night, either.
instead, i've spent hours (or maybe it was just 45 minutes?) clutching my pillow and staring wide-eyed at my closet. for no reason whatsoever. other than a classic blue and white satin polka-dot pencil skirt, my closet isn't even that interesting.
so, i tried tricking my body into becoming tired by getting sucked into a marathon run of archives from my favorite blogs.
true to form, i became emotionally invested in the adventure-ness and talented DIY birthday party-ness, and especially the happily-ever-after couple-ness of it all. which got me to thinking about how these couples sounded so much like andrew and me and why did those cute things he did get on my nerves? the blog couples i read about never seem to get annoyed with each other. why did we?
and then, at 1:37 in the morning i put down my laptop and sobbed heavily for a good five minutes. which was slightly unexpected. i mean, i hadn't cried about the breakup in at least five days. *progress*.
now, i know what you're probably thinking: dang girl, pull yourself together. just move on, already. you're making a fool of yourself. and you'd be right.
but, may i please just remind you that it was 1:37 in the morning and i was was running on five hours of sleep in the past 48 hours? doesn't that count for anything??
anyway, i don't know why i'm writing all of this. it's certainly not to inform my incredibly vast internet audience of two (highly intelligent) readers of what they already know: that i'm a basket case when i'm tired.
no, i'm writing this for me i suppose.
sometimes i need to remind myself that, for anyone who has a happy story to tell, they're also leaving out the bad bits, like when they sobbed in bed for five minutes at 1:37 in the morning. because really, who wants to read that pitiful story? eh-hem...
no, instead blogs are, in my experience, sun hats with floppy rims and chalk painted nightstands and a decadent cafe au lait in tuscany with a heart-shaped foam design and impeccable instagram photos. because that's what's fun and people love it. when someone's limited to 500-1,000 words, the tears are the first to get cut. besides, that's what memoirs are for.
but, it helps when i get into this blog-overload mindset of kicking myself for not being more patient, kind, and handy with a paint brush... it helps, when reading about a nature photographer's perfectly decorated apartment while she poses for pictures with her two ny times style section-worthy swedish toddlers on her pristine white couch...it helps...just to remind myself that i'm not reading about the part where that same nature photographer had an all-out screaming match with her husband the night before about whose turn it was to scrub the dog's vomit out of said white couch.
that part was never written. never photographed. but it's there, somewhere, in between all the spaces and commas and paragraph breaks. and it's ok that it's not there. it doesn't need to be. that's not what the story is about.
and yes, you could definitely say i've always been a bit pre-occupied by what goes on behind the scenes. probably because it's something i'll never know, and i like a mystery.
anyway, i hold on to the belief that this less-than-glorious reality exists for everyone. not to be sinister, but to be honest. and i have a good feeling i'm not too far off from the truth. because it certainly exists for me.
and you know what? yesterday morning, before the tears, before the insomnia, i drank a cafe au lait. and there was a heart on it. so i instagrammed it.
ok, i'm going to try and take a much needed nap now. and then i'll write less about the tears, and more about my super sweet hat collection.
also: good morning!