Lacrimae

No more attempts at "relationships" for me. I am so done.

It's the tears I hate. I can be almost anywhere, and my eyes will fill up. It's fine when I am alone, and the water can flow uninterrupted -- or when I am on a walk, and can hide behind huge sunglasses.

But it happened at the mall tonight, as I was waiting for my daughter and her friend. Horrible timing.

Pretending to read (at least the book was right side up) I sat there struggling to regain my composure, exposed on every side, but ignored (happily).

But I wouldn't give in. I couldn't give in. Surrounded by teenagers and families enjoying (if one can use that term) the best fast food Exton can offer, I swept my hair back from my face fiercely, channeling every tough heroine I knew.

Still, it's a challenge when you are in the middle of a conversation about something, and suddenly it's a struggle to articulate the words because your throat has tightened and you start to feel not only pitiable, but pitiful. It stinks.

And then, of course, there are the feelings I closeted while in the thick of things, but am only now allowing myself to experience -- those will remain private.

I used to be very happy to be by myself -- too happy, I believed. Now I'm not happy alone, but don't think I can risk hope once more.

Of course, there are those other factors -- there is another facet, facts behind the feelings. There are so many reasons not to accept my current version of reality, my perspective, and even my gloom about my future hopes.

But right now, as in so many quarters, emotions rule.

They will, apparently, have their day - or their dark night.

In the daylight, things may look different. But I'm not much good at waiting. Or escaping. Or denying.

I am, however, an expert at looking like I'm about to burst into tears.

Too bad you can't make a career out of it.