Sparkles

First off, no I did not let Ken and Barbie choose the title. I don’t even have time to play with the Ken and Barbie that I brought with me. Because of my neglect, they’re not giving me a whole lot of input on things right now. Secondly, the disclaimer you receive prior to reading this blog is that I do not need you to locate a psychologist, psychiatrist, or any other form or therapeutic human being to help me overcome my current state. Trust me, I’ve already tried all the ones here and they’re all the crazy ones! Or maybe they just don’t speak my language….anyhow, for this situation, I think I just need some Pellegrino, a wad of cash, and a good old-fashioned shopping spree.

Oh wait, I did all of that yesterday, and it didn’t work. 

Yesterday, prior to my retail therapy, I had the most lovely walk. The snow was catching the sun in just the right way to make it look like those sparkles I used to glue onto paper with as a child, and as an adult (working at a daycare of course) ….ok, so I made a few of my own to bring home and hang on the refrigerator for my mom to admire. Unfortunately I could not capture the sparkles in the above picture, my camera was jealous thinking it was mini-flashes trying to steal it’s thunder, but it was a mesmerizing sight indeed. Those sparkles, reminiscent of the ones I put all over my eyes and hair when I was 13, had the ability to make any ol’ drawing with glue look like a Rembrandt; I remember how they used to transform me before every gymnastics meet into Mary Lou Retton herself. Have I digressed? I think that is my third middle name. Emily Catherine Grace Digression Maillet.

I followed the sparkly trail to the spa where I indulged in an hour of sauna-ing myself, laying in the sun pool side and having a massage. These events were necessary to hang onto any remaining bits of my sanity, and to make sure that I don’t come home in two months to my normally scheduled program, with muscles that are as tightly wound as my stomach gets whenever I try to pull off a clever new fashion piece while walking by Saks Fifth. My GLOWING day was topped off and made complete with spotting the only people I know here in the city and enjoying a lively ride back to my Chalet, a radiant phone call, and the sweetest of dreams!

Today, perhaps as the universe decided to see-saw, or pendulum, or “what goes up must come down” on me, was a very non-sparkly, low day. I felt like this:

And when asked what was my deal, my facial expression looked like this:

Despite the fact that I am constantly surrounded by this:


I suppose the reason for the “Why so glum chum?” and every cell in my body screaming is that I am not exactly seeing these sparkly things I was supposed to see while I am here at this moment in time. My eyes are open as big and bright as I can get them, through my sleep-deprived, self-inflicted quarter-life crisis craze. I cannot seem to meet my own expectations in coming here. Perhaps the entire idea was Fool’s Gold?

Why am I here? What on earth am I doing? What’s wrong with me? Can I wake up from this dream now? What on earth is going on and how do I get out? And where is my hug from the Universe!?

Looks like tomorrow is going to have to be TERRIFIC to make up for today. You know the worst part? Nothing entirely awful even happened today, although I will try to pretend it did: it was toilet cleaning day, I heard some really bad news, got some puddle splashed on me by a passing bus. Definitely not enough to throw off someone’s whole entire day. What happened to that positive quote I read yesterday? In one eyeball and out the other I suppose.

Anyway, I am done looking for gold and any associated amalgams. I’ve always been a silver kind of girl. Haven’t I already acknowledged that? Maybe I need to go buy some new expensive jewelry….that will cheer me up. Maybe I will do some sit ups instead.

There was supposed to be more interesting stuff in here; should I run off and get a tattoo and spice up my life a little? Eat a waffle and some crepes? Carve my name in this wall…. 

I guess I will just hang out with my books and my pet wishbone and hang on until tomorrow! Ah yes, I think Bon Jovi wrote a little tune that applies to this situation and running marathons. It could be worse, I could be giving love a bad name….

Sparing You of Yours,

— Emily —

 

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