I have talked about the clogged pore on my back and the need to have my husband pick at it.
But I won't mention it again.
It makes my friend Heidi gag.....sorry Heidi.
Every once in a while, just like my back, I need to do an emotional purge. I tend to feel a bit clogged and the crap needs to come out. It isn't pretty, in fact I can be a tad ugly.
Once, in the hospital, I kicked a chair (aimed at my husband) across the room and found myself huddled in a ball at the chapel.
Others may recall the time I left Children's and found myself in Downieville getting a $.05 cup of coffee.
On Thursday evening, I found myself in the same predicament; so full of grief and sadness and anger, I didn't know quite what to do with myself.
I howled at the moon.
I threw my car keys in the garden at 11:00 at night.
My sane self told my crazy self I might need those keys at some point.
I told my sane self to go to hell and plopped down among my new baby tomatoes to have a good, long cry.
The tough part about sitting in the new-baby-tomatoes-while-grieving-at-11:00-at-night is that I get cold. And my bum gets wet. And sooner or later I dry my eyes and think I might be a bit more comfortable inside. Darn it.
And I wonder what I did with my keys but realize I throw like the proverbial girl and find them among my baby zucchinis.
Going into the house, I don't say a word
I don't look in the mirror. I know my face is swollen and tear stained.
But cuddling up to hubby on the couch, I feel 20 pounds lighter.
"Better?" he says as I steal the comforter.
"For now," I say.
He sneaks a hand down the back of my shirt and picks at that annoying little pore. "There's nothing left," I say and sigh into his chest. "I left it all with the tomatoes."