Wednesday, May 9, 2012

Expectation is the root of all heartache. - Shakespeare

Sometimes I feel like I'm living a screenplay, and that the funnier things get around me, the more anxious I become. I am a woman of many, very high, expectations. Like, everyone in my life is placed on this heaven-high pedestal, and if they blow it, and fall off, which we ALL do, they're done. They got one chance and they blew it. Phew! Am I hearing myself right now?!

I also start to feel extremely disappointed and sad with people when they let me down. And I walk this earth shattered and bruised over the tiniest incidences that don't tend to go my way. If the direction of the wind is off, I become a weeping willow.

Is that sad, or just very normal? It's probably just sad. Since "normal" has never fit into my vocabulary and all

An incident happened yesterday morning. And it came as a crushing blow to me. I was devastated and hysterical, sobbing and hyperventilating. The whole nine yards. It was like that scene in First Wives Club where Diane Keaton goes apeshit when she discovers that her separated-from husband, who she juuuuust slept with, is in fact sleeping with their marital therapist. That scene where she's yelling "I'm SOrrrrrrreeeeeee" and flailing her arms about. That was me yesterday morning. It was all very upsetting and dramatic. But my histrionics were boyfriend was supposed to visit me, and missed his bus. We haven't seen each other in over a month. I moved home at the end of February to get diagnosed and treated for Lyme disease, a nasty, debilitating autoimmune picnic where you get every sickness going around, from the baby coughing on you at the grocery store to the ladybug who poops on your hand at the park. No immune system. Total body breakdown. But that's another blog. (Seriously, I have a Lyme blog, should you be interested in end-of-the-world-drama.)

So, chef boyfriend who works 60 hour weeks AND THEN goes into work on his days off and gets kicked out by his executive chef because he needs "rest" (ha!), misses his bus that I so painstakingly booked, had my mom fax to our landlord to have print out and place in Jeremy's clutches, sleeps too late and misses the bus by minutes. Which would be fine, if I didn't wake up this text message: "No trip. Missed the bus. Sorry."

Just like that. In a text. No trip. Missed bus. Sorry. I just lost it, as any excited girlfriend would. I threw myself into my mom's bedroom, bawling and hyperventilating. Hows that for a wakeup call, angry and sad and disappointed and all these emotions hurling out through drops flying down my face like motorists on the beltway during rush hour.

So, minor disappointment, that I put all hopes into. Then I slept the entire day.