My smile is a little different this week. It’s not something small and self-contained but more conceptual.
I’ve been playing some of Rory’s Valentine’s challenges and got to one last night (no. 14) that I was going to write and schedule for today. Its theme was about my worst dates. Hah, I thought, I have a million of ’em… how to even choose? So many disasters, so many horrible jerks, so many…
Then I tried to pick three specific ones for the prompt. Worst date. Bad blind date. Dating disaster. Obviously this would be so easy for me! You’ve heard me complain for years about my terrible time with dating site men, etc. I’ve posted several funny stories but not scary-sad ones. (Or if I did, I deleted them.)
But a weird thing seems to have happened. While I remember that there were bad dates and can recall specific names and situations, the feelings have faded. When I used to revisit these memories, it was like walking barefoot over a field of sharp rocks. Ow ow ow! Last night it was as if the rains had come and the rocks were all underwater. I could see them, but they didn’t hurt me.
And I didn’t feel like writing about them. They all seemed too boring, with the ripples of the water making them look harmless. I didn’t want to reach in and pick up a rock to see if its edges were still sharp and hurty. Just leave them all.
This made me happy. This made me smile. I was serious when I said I managed to cure myself of my 2017 depression without therapy or meds. I let myself feel all the anger and sadness I needed to feel. I wrote all the poetry I needed to write. I didn’t hide anything away in the attic so that it would return to haunt me later.
And now it’s done. Sorry I can’t write about my bad dates. 😀😀😀