I haven't posted an outfit entry in two days. I have been too caught up in life and waiting for the next tide to change. Last night a friend asked me out for an evening of drinks, music and general merriment. I accepted because I'm trying to say "yes" more in my life. I'm trying to not make up excuses that only result in my spending another evening watching trash t.v., overindulging my comfort food addiction and continuing to draw a circle of social isolation, something that usually results in alienation and consequently depression. So I went out. I drank a few drinks and tried in vain to eat some ill fated Mexican food afterward that left me nauseous and languid for the remainder of today. I didn't get dressed. I didn't even take off my creasing make-up, liquid liner exaggerating my already weary eyes. There was no fashion to be had today. Not even a smidgen. Unless heroin chic is back again (I don't do or condone heroin, I merely looked the part in the wee hours of the morning).
We ran errands today and took Jack to the park despite my body screaming at me to crawl back in bed. I refuse to rob him of a good weekend due to my decisions in alcohol and bad food. There is laundry to be done. Dishes to be loaded. And I'm in a very touchy mood. I cried at "Lost In Translation" the other day despite having seen it countless times. I cried at "The Royal Tenenbaums". I cried at the minute of preview for "The Blindside" that came before "Where The Wild Things Are" with which I cried some more.
And then my mom called me this evening. Her ex-boyfriend's dad had passed away. Her relationship with the aforementioned ex became "ex" status only shortly ago. He had been a part of my life, albeit an extra in the cast of my life, for the last four years or so. I had met his father and mother countless times, they even helped throw my baby shower and were there at my bedside during Jack's birth. They are all around good people and I felt horrible at the news my mother had told me through broken sentences, punctuated with tears.
I want to cry. But I know as soon as I allow myself I will be all too consumed by it. Because listening to my mother on the phone, I knew exactly how she felt. I traced my mind back to the day I sobbed into my parent's arms over the death of MY ex-boyfriend's father, my senior year of high school. It was a grief I found myself inexplicably overwhelmed by. I had only met my ex's father a handful of times, but I thoroughly enjoyed each and every encounter. His love of music, enthusiasm and life suddenly vanished. I saw the confusion, insurmountable grief, physical exhaustion of everyone in the room the day of the funeral. It shook me to my core. I'm still shaking.
I shake with the holding back of emotion. The perpetual emotions of a woman who loves everyone too much. Who's heart still fractures even though I have dry walled the hell out of it's cracks, painted over the creases. A woman who hides behind punchlines and stories hoping the welling up of my eyes goes unnoticed. "Please, excuse me".
And so, despite wanting to post pictures of outfits, get lost in aesthtics, I don't have it in me. I cannot contemplate polka dots when my brain aches with past, presents and the ever unknown future. I will swaddle myself in comfort and catharsis. It may not be fashionable, but for now it's in season.