Even in the midst of joy, there is a palpable sense of despair...it bleeds relentlessly into every other emotion. It is sneaky, this fellow, pushing down your shoulders as you walk along, busily pressing creases into your face as you sleep, and gleefully patting some grays into your tousled bedhead. He is always with you, like a houseguest who won't leave, and you have frankly become a little afraid to ask to leave. What would happen then? What might your newfound friend be capable of when shown the door? So instead of confronting him, you uncomfortably soldier along, just enduring.
I think he and I crossed paths today at the window of the Dairy Queen. As I opened my mouth to order, gleeful to be procuring some chocolate frozen goodness, I slipped in my super cute -but admittedly not practical- high heels, and nearly bit it. Nervous laughter bubbled up on autopilot. Once my brain had secured my safety to its satisfaction, my first thought was to remember to share this giggle with Cory when I got home...how she would cackle! "Sure, Mom, high heels aren't scary at all!"
How is possible to still have these kind of thoughts, being honestly caught by surprise when my brain corrects itself seconds later? Are Despair and my brain in cahoots together? How is that fair? That bastard should be forced to work alone.
I have done remarkably well all work week, giving myself pats on the back as I went along...right up until that moment when the smile felt stale on my face- just a Mrs. Potato Head with a big lipstick grin pasted on, that's me.
I ate my ice cream, my taste buds singing hallelujah, while my heart burned, just burned. What little light had been behind my eyes snuffed out that quickly, that completely. Despair looked at me, clucking his tongue, and shaking his head, "Lost, lost, lost..."
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