Cry Me a River

“As she said these words her foot slipped, and in another moment, splash! she was up to her chin in salt water. Her first idea was that she had somehow fallen into the sea, 'and in that case I can go back by railway,' she said to herself. (Alice had been to the seaside once in her life, and had come to the general conclusion, that wherever you go to on the English coast you find a number of bathing machines in the sea, some children digging in the sand with wooden spades, then a row of lodging houses, and behind them a railway station.) However, she soon made out that she was in the pool of tears which she had wept when she was nine feet high.”

Sorry for my unusual silence this week but I endured a very soggy, saline weekend making me think I had landed the starring role in Alice in Wonderland. Remember the segment where she cries copious tears and then drinks from the bottle which she declares tasted like a mix of cherry-tart, custard, pineapple, roast turkey, toffee, and hot buttered toast (though I bet it tasted like beer), shrinking to a diminutive size thus floundering in a sea of her own salty tears? Well, that was me this weekend. :(

Issue 1 came up early Friday morning calling for further investigation. Accomplished in short order I, planned to discuss and communicate my concerns in a calm, collected manner. As usual, Mr Wonderful was several up on me in the Beer Dept. and while I quietly listened to his side of this matter, I took mental note of the many discrepancies he voiced. Then with no warning whatsoever, he proceeded to drop the sneaky diversionary Issue 2 Bombshell, sending me reeling with shock and disbelief into oblivion and temporarily averting the heat from the original Issue 1. For the first hour, I sat paralyzed, totally numb, and when the feeling returned to my limbs, the gushing waterfall commenced and continued without letup for 24 hours straight. Issue 1 was finally addressed on Saturday but my raw emotion seeped through and the weekend might pretty much be summed up as hellish as I alternately guzzled beer, sobbed, and spoke considerably more bluntly than my usual tactful self. I’ll be dearly paying for that for some time to come as one never speaks one’s true feelings on matters without endless repercussions. Sunday found me quiet but spent, feeling like a Mach truck had run over me repeatedly. Yesterday I was despondent and listless and dressed in synchronous black as I fought my emotional way back to the sunlight. I’m fine today, my usual cheerful self, and though nothing is resolved (it never is), the free fall has stopped and I can touch terra firma once again.

My preshus Kerbear just offered to help me hide the carcass. What are true friends for? :)