three types of tears

 page2.jpgI don’t quite know how to articulate this, but I shall try.Today was such a weird day. It felt like a day in a life that wasn’t quite mine. It felt like an intermittently really bad and then sometimes REAL good independent film version of my own life. Starring me in smeared eye make up. Stumbling down the street at 1 am, crying ridiculously, carrying my shoes in my hand. Also starring my parents. Also the rain, craploads. And some sad fire fighters. And a few lobsters.  And my grandma.Firstly, it started with me – like a true desperate amateur – reading all of the Oohrah! reviews which – for the most part – really were not great at all. I of course skimmed through them all super fast, terrified of dwelling on any one of them, til my head was swimming with ‘Brunstetter can’t’ and ‘Brunstetter couldn’t’ and ‘Brunstetter didn’t’ and ‘Brunstetter doesn’t’ and ‘Brunstetter fails at.’ I’m not going to lie, I was totally side-swiped by them and have never been so devastated, ever.But. So. C’est la vie and welcome to the Biz, Bekah, and so on, and et cetera, and buck up and bootstraps, and all of those things. SO!I turn on the TV for distraction and the names of the 9/11 victims are being read aloud.  In the rain. Immediately reminding me of the actual (non)weight of my own problems and how lucky I am, which God loves to do to me, constantly, on the most ironic of ways. Evan put it best: ‘Bekah, at least we’re not jumping out of burning buildings to save our own lives.’ Touche, Cabnet. I love that guy.And then finally,  there were tears for my Grandma, who is officially never going to wake up – we’ll be taking her off life support tommorrow.  So while I tend to usually jet around not really feeling the impact of things, today was a day of tears. Which, in retrospect, dare I say it even, was kind of – good.

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