Whatever that means.
I’ve felt like an elephant has been sitting on my chest for two days now.
It hurts to inhale. It’s a relief to exhale. It gets better about mid-day, but in the morning and the evening I breathe so shallowly that it feels like I’m not breathing at all. But to breathe any deeper means an ache around my heart that makes it impossible to think.
It’s not as bad today, and I’m praying that it doesn’t come back.
I’ve cried more this week than I have in the last two months.
But, as contradictory as it sounds, I’ve been happier than I have been in two or even three months.
I just finished reading We Were Liars by E. Lockhart. I can’t stress how emotionally debilitating that book is. I finished it sitting at a folding table, surrounded by people, and I felt shattered.
I reread part of The Blind Contessa’s New Machine and felt empty.
I don’t know why I like sad books so much.
I still love my jobs. I love teaching piano. I love the moment when something clicks, when they figure out a concept all by themselves. I love their serious faces when they’re concentrating. I love how excited they get over the candy box, like they keep taking lessons just for that little perk.
I love waitressing. I love talking with all of the people who come in, getting to know them if they’re a regular and just chatting with them if they aren’t. I love my coworkers, even if I want to kill them sometimes. I love working hard and earning my money and being so tired at the end of a shift that I just want to curl up and not move for a week.
I love being busy and productive and having people – unrelated to me by blood – in my life that love me and look out for me.
When I play piano or type for too long, my right wrist hurts. An enervating pain that usually leaves me somewhere with tears rolling down my face, chastising myself for playing or writing for too long.
I don’t know what it is, but I’ve been wearing a wrist brace and working on strengthening my wrists. I haven’t noticed a difference yet, so we’ll see.
My piano lessons are scheduled. I’m going to start taking lessons from a woman in Brazoria. Because we paid through the college, I’ll get access to the practice rooms there.
The practice rooms have perfectly tuned pianos.
It’s really exciting.
I’m more stressed than I think I’ve ever been, and I’m aware that it’s only going to get worse from here.
But I am inexplicably happy, and I’m not going to start asking why.
Week two of college is in the bags.
Whatever that means.