Life is a damn sloppy mess, isn’t it?  In that way, it’s like the spray tan.  I get a spray tan every week to ten days.  For those whose skin contains melanin like it’s supposed to and who can get color naturally, I envy you.  As for me, I have to find a workaround and that’s the airbrush tan.  During the winter months, I let the vampire in me rule.  I embrace it.  But for summer, the tan is a nice little confidence booster.  You have to let it absorb for about 8 hours.  And the bronzer in the solution makes you look dirty when you leave so pretty much once you tan, you’re stuck not doing much.  You can’t sweat or get rained on.  I’ve learned contact solution is also deadly.  So here I sit on the couch, as upright as possible with a fan on me, doing nothing but pondering life (and scrolling through Facebook like the addict I am).

That’s pretty dangerous.  This week I’ve caught myself thinking how life demands of everyone that you break and then find a way to go on.  Everyone gets hit differently.  I’ve been relatively lucky in that my breaks are small compared to the losses, rejections, and beatings others take.  But “comparison is an act of violence against the self”–as I once read–and we can’t really compare our path to others.  I try very hard to remain grateful for everything and remind myself any pain I feel could always be worse.

I’m not gonna parade around the issue.  In October I connected with someone and I kinda thought what we had was very unique and special.  I really thought it had the elements of something that could last.  In April, I found out I was mistaken.  My problem was that I didn’t want to give up hope.  I still don’t.  I’ll freely admit that.  Sometimes it’s sheer insanity that I refuse to give up.  I haven’t ever gotten a letter, flowers, or anything.  And yet I daydream that one day I’ll walk to the mailbox and there will sit a letter from him.  God, what would it even say?  See, that’s the problem with insane thoughts: they tend to not make much sense.  Cause what could he even say that would make it ok?  Ya know, since all this honesty is flowin out of me like snot does with the flu, it’d just have to say he misses me and he wants it to work.  I can’t decide if that’s pathetic, sad, simple (as life should be), or ridiculous.  Maybe it’s all of that.

But reality is that letter isn’t coming.  I know the Universe works in mysterious ways–and I never say never [well, not more than 20 or so times a day]–but all signs point to the daydreams of something materializing never coming true.  And, I am learning to just be ok with that.  I don’t want to miss something spectacular by sitting here weeping over what’s gone.  So I don’t.

And that’s my point.  No matter how sloppy things get–no matter how insane the hope levels rise–you can’t stop living because things don’t work out with another equally sloppy human being.  People come, people go.  And life MUST go on.  I refuse to give in to the undertow of grief that swells deep in me.  I put one foot in front of the other, day after day, minute by minute, and I go on.  And I pay attention and do it happily.  Grateful for the day and the experiences I will go out and have.

Example: I guarantee no matter how much perfection was applied, I’m gonna have some “moons” where my thigh and ass meet when I put on my swimsuit tomorrow and go to Detox to celebrate the Observer’s 15th birthday.  Hopefully my swimsuit covers it up enough but hell, I’m totally accepting the fact it may not and I’ll be the girl with the funny white spots under my ass if I forget and bend over.  Hell, all I hope is that I give somebody a good laugh.  Best case scenario, I share a huge laugh about it.  Worse case, someone whispers all snarky like but what they don’t know is that I’m snickering about it already.  I’m not perfect–I’m one of the sloppiest humans I know.  If you know me (or read this blog), you’ll already be aware that when it comes to love, no one messes it up more.  I should get a Covey [huge awards in here in MS every Jan for Best Of’s] for Best at Picking the Wrong One.  Oh, I got that category.  You other nominees eat your hearts out. 😉

I don’t know if anyone can relate to this post at all or not, but I find humor and self-compassion will make the days easier.  Hearts break.  No reason not to treat yourself to something nice.  And beating yourself up is just gonna prolong it.  He ain’t the first; he’s just the first in a long time to really hit me somewhere it lingers for a while.  Sloppy, sloppy life (but a good reminder that I am human…and I CAN still feel something deeply for someone).  You just clean it up and get ready for the next mess.  Whistle while you’re cleaning it up.  Put on some good music and dance while you do it!  Soak up your friends while you can.  Don’t get caught up in your own problems and let an opportunity pass you by.  Those are my thoughts.  And, once again, it could be a lot worse.  In fact, I just got this *one* tiny area of life I screw up repeatedly.  Hey, that’s not all that bad.  I don’t even think I can get a nod at the other Covey category ‘Best Little Hot Mess’ with only one area.  And ya know what?  That hope I can’t get rid of–this particular man even completely out of the picture–whispers that one day I might get nominated for Best Happy Ending.  And therefore, it’s totally worth it.