Friday, January 15, 2010

Grey Days

I've always been sensitive.  Tough exterior, and childhood bully, but as long as I can remember I was a big crier. Yes, I'm warm and fuzzy, I skip AND cry...but for some reason I'm still told with my 5'9 frame that I can be "intimidating". Go figure.

But as an adult, I've evolved. Being composed is having control. Tears are weak. Big girls don't cry. We eat ice cream by the pint and shop our worries away. So I don't cry. It's not like I suppress it, but for some reason rarely does the hand I'm dealt feel cry worthy.

I mean, I'm not suffering through the aftershock of a 7.3 earthquake in an already impoverished nation.  I'm no soldier in this endless war, or a spouse who has to explain to my toddler that daddy's never coming home. No.  My life isn't tear worthy.  And I guess my tear ducts agree...or they're on strike.  Well, except for Thursdays.

But like a snake sheds skin, women NEED to shed tears.  Tears are cleansing...a relieving opportunity to let go, feel (pause) and move on.  So TGIT.  Thank.God.For.Thursdays.  THANK GOD for Grey's Anatomy. Because of Grey's I can cry.  And not a mild cry...I'm talking about a "Don't call me I can't pick up" cry.  An "I know my nose is dripping but I can't move until the commercial" cry.  And I know it seems silly, with the predictable scripts and endless round robin soap opera relationships, but Thursdays are cathartic.

Christina and her stoic exterior, yet innate need to feel believed in. Meredith learning to love and be loved without ever seeing what that really looks like. Bailey and her failing struggle to give 110% to career, motherhood and being a wife and the tragic consequences. And even though I can relate, it's not me.  I can cry because it's THEM. THEIR pain, and

If I had to diagnose myself, I'd say that perhaps I'm suppressing my true feelings.  But honestly, it doesn't FEEL that way. And although this nagging pain across my shoulders suggests otherwise, I don't even feel stressed.  I think just like men need avenues to channel their testosterone and aggression (usually through recreation and violent sports), I need my weekly fix to balance out all this estrogen.

So after nearly two months feeling like Amy Winehouse searching out a pipe...Grey's is back, and so is my habit. Please know that once again Thursdays are sacred time and I can not be reached. The DO NOT DISTURB sign is in full effect and thanks to Private Practice, hours have now been extended from 9-11pm.  But don't worry, Friday morning I will emerge a refreshed and recharged woman counting down the days till we can do it all over again.  Ahhh...simple pleasures.  But now that I've had my weekly fix, excuse me as I go find a Massage Envy so they can holla at this shoulder pain.  eeemmeeediately

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