Last Wednesday afternoon while driving to microbiology lab I felt exhausted. Its origin was a result of more than my five-day-a-week exercise habit, more than my school schedule and more than rearing three children. And it was an extra-special brand of exhausted. It was physical and emotional and spiritual and technical and ethereal and...spherical (don't ask...I never know what might come out of my fingertips). What I sensed was that I needed was a good cry -- but time wouldn't allow for that. This semester has been nothing less than a bear, and while I've repeatedly told myself that it would likely be the most difficult of my remaining time in school, the adviser at UCM had just counseled me otherwise. (Looks like six weeks of summer driving and then a monster of a fall.) So that day, I still had lab then baking for kids' school stuff, followed by a Thursday full of chem studying and class and kids, a Friday with kids out of school and birthday cake making and studying, a Saturday morning midterm, Saturday afternoon skating party, Sunday actual birthday, Monday drive to-and-from the parents and finally a Tuesday to see to eight weeks of....well... sigh.
This morning was full of catching up on bills and making appointments and whatnot, then a fun lunch catching up with Tattoo Steve. I made a grocery store run (but not too big, in anticipation of the Trader Joe's trip tomorrow -- oh yeah, Wednesday and Thursday in Saint Louis), then home to address a few pre-trip details. And that's when it happened.
A short number-crunching phone call with The Ex- (we'll have a public vote on your nickname eventually, Martin) left me weepy...then tearful...then flat-out bawling. About twenty minutes into it, I realized that much like my December break-down, this had less to do with the current matter at hand and far more to do with everything else. So I just kept crying, ran a bath and wept while I soaked. Once all of my mascara was floating atop the water, I figured I was done.
So I hopped out, got dressed and I went thrift shopping.
And now I have a "new" vintage orange trench coat.
And I feel better.