Oh chickies, I don’t know how much effort I can put in to writing about the weekend but suffice to say it was a blast and I’d love to do it again, but not right away, because driving through New Jersey sucks (I hate it now for more reasons than just the Jets) and staying up until 3:30 AM drinking wine the night before you have to drive six and a half hours home is a poor life decision I’d rather not revisit. But it was amazing just the same.
Pictures as promised!
All of us at lunch. Can you see me?
Samantha, Nicki (my driving partner), me, and Nichole (who let us crash at her apartment over the weekend):
One of my favorite pictures from the weekend…back at Nichole’s house later that night (after a few glasses of wine). Nichole, Morgan, me, with Nicki on our laps and Nichole and her husband Tom’s roommate Calvin photobombing:
It was an absolutely amazing weekend, but let me tell you, the driving part hurts, and I’ll be very, very happy to never, ever drive through the state of New Jersey again. New Jersey sucks. (Sorry to anyone who may be reading this who is from New Jersey)
Aaaand this is the week where anyone who knows me, knows that I go absolutely batshit insane. It’s Holy Week, the week of Easter, the busiest week in our calendar, and this is the sixth time I’ve gone through it. For some reason I’m always in less than tip-top shape the Monday of Holy Week. In 2011 I fell off my bicycle in a nasty road accident the Friday beforehand, and came in Monday still hopped up on pain pills and sore as hell. Last year I was sick. Today, I’m just exhausted. Tack on going to the courthouse (again) this afternoon and then counseling with DS and I am just…shot.
Sometimes I feel a little…bipolar? shall we say? Split? I have days when I think What a relief it is that I no longer have to worry about what D is doing, who he is talking to, if our marriage is going to end, etc. And then there are days (like last night) where I cry and I think I just can’t do it, I can’t go through with this, I can’t be strong, I can’t get a divorce, it hurts too much, God, just don’t let it happen to me. There are days, still, days nobody sees or hears about, when I lock the door to my apartment and I curl into a little ball, clutching my extra pillow against me as hard as I can, sobbing and repeating over and over again, “I don’t want to hurt anymore,”
And then I straighten up, and I dry my tears, and I come back to myself, out of the hole of my anxiety and terror, and I move on with my life.
There are two quotes that I keep to myself, during times like these. One of them is from Andrew Lloyd Webber, from years ago, and the other is one I just read, the other day, from a friend of mine’s blog.
“Bad moments come, but they go.
Some days are fine, some a little bit harder.
But that doesn’t mean we should give up our dream.
Have you ever seen me defeated?
Don’t you forget what I’ve been through, and yet
I’m still standing.”
“Five years ago, I remember casting desperate pleas to my future self; months away, years away, decades… I just wanted to release some kind of gossamer thread into the yawning abyss and feel my future self ripple back some reassurance that I was going to be okay.
That it wasn’t going to be dark forever.
That I would heal.
That it would get better.
Right here & right now, I’m grabbing the other end of that gossamer thread and rippling back that yes, darling—
yes, it’s going to get bright again, even brighter than you could ever dream.
Yes, you are going to heal.
Yes, it is going to get better, and at times, you’ll feel such a fierce gratitude for how much better than you’re not sure you have the capacity to hold it all—
but, of course, you will.
&, yes, above all things,
it going to be absolutely worth it.”