Ill At Ease

Every few months I have a crash and burn spell. I hit a wall and all the most important parts of me spill out, while I scramble to hold my insides...to keep walking, limping, or even crawling to the next good thing. The call of the next good thing is the only force that pushes my one foot in front of the other some days. It's what keeps me from melting onto myself and disappearing for weeks at a time. Today, the next good thing is dinner with a friend and a poetry reading by Jean Valentine this evening. I rarely indulge in fits of gloom, but I'm so tired and inexplicably sad lately. Last week, someone at work made a very flip comment about how I'm always so happy and together. It was meant as a compliment, but it just pissed me off. Every bit of my contentment has had a price...just because I don't go all fucking Minnie Pearl and let the tags show doesn't mean I didn't pay for it.