A Tour Through My Saturday
Let's start with this morning. I woke up in a state of alarm to the phone ringing: "Angela, I just wanted to remind you that there's a LSA meeting this morning." Again, Mari to the rescue. Within seconds, she knew something was wrong. Just like up at Bosch, I ended up crying. It needed to happen, and I felt a little better after talking to her. I was completely out of it during the meeting, however. I didn't have enough coffee to keep my eyes open. Talking was out of the question, but fortunately, Baha'is are the most loving, understanding people in the world. They just hugged me. This describes how I felt after I was shown so much love.
After doing some of the duties required of me, I went home where my parents were anxiously waiting for me. The emergency? Mom needed some yogurt, and Dad gets lost driving to Safeway by himself. Spending a few hours in a grocery store is not a good idea when I'm going through withdrawal. The chocolate jones was at a critical mass. In the store, I managed to get past the candy and the bakery, but I stopped in the organic section. Cookies. They're all organic, the good for you stuff. Whole wheat flour and no refined sugar. Nothing wrong with that. I could buy a box of gingersnaps and only eat three....
(Don't be shocked. I told you I'm in a hellacious mood.) I bought a bag of Asian salad mix and some lean turkey instead. I had a "wonderfully healthy" dinner.
My mood didn't improve after dinner, either.
Nothing like a haunting, melancholy song to plunge a woman deeper into the pits. But I do love my girl's video (The words "deceive" and "obfuscate" shown at the beginning of the video are ironically meaningful to me right now. I'm my own worst enemy.) I'm feeling you, Sade. But what I really need is "The Dark Knight". Temporary emotional rescue
"Riddle me this, riddle me that...who's afraid of the big, black bat!" I love it!
I love those lines..."What is it about the wrong kind of man? "It's the car. Chicks love the car." :) I'm feeling better now.
When I get through all this, I'm going to move through this world dancing everywhere I go. I have to make up for all the years I've lost to this addiction.
It's late, and I'm tired. But there's a sliver of hope. Bellydancing. A woman can dream, can't she?
Lest you think I'm going to plunge myself into a vat overflowing with Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, I leave you with this positive note. As I've said before, hope is a very powerful tool. Even on messed-up, crappy days like this one.