Day 677

Rainy days. Usually, they're one of my very favorite things. Most of the time, there's nothing better than snuggling up in bed, wasting the day away while listening to the raindrops ting against your window. Lazy rainy fall Saturdays, curled up on the couch in your most comfortable pajamas, napping as your flip through college football. I wish today's rainy day did that for me.

Instead, I woke up not so great this rainy Saturday morning. Nothing felt right. I used to have these days a lot. Rain pouring down or the sun shining bright, it was just something I couldn't shake. Then I started to write, I started to feel again, and the frequency of those days lessened.

I don't know how to control them, when they come and when they stay away. I can't turn these days off whenever I want to. The good news is, they don't happen very often anymore. The bad news is, they've come back to me today.

I think this stems from an overwhelming feeling of having no control. Sure, I can control what I wear, what I read, what I watch. Small factors that really add up to nothing. But I can't control who stays in my life, who goes, who keeps coming back, who won't seem to go away. And that lack of control, and my feelings involved in it all...well, they build up to erupt into days like today.

I received a beautiful email this morning from someone I watched grow up. He offered words of encouragement and visions of happy days. Then he said something that shocked me...sometimes, he reads this and feels so sorry for me, other times, he's happy to think I'm doing so well. I guess it's never been stated so bluntly to me before, but thank you. I know that's how so many of you feel, and you just don't quite know what to say or do about it.

But that's okay. I know this. Trust me, I live it. I know my good days from my bad. Luckily, the balance is now skewed. More good, much more good, than bad.

This is why I write. I may not be a number one in someone else's life, but on this blank page, I am the one and only. I spill it all, not having to worry about having to stop and wait for work or kids or school or husbands or girlfriends or anything else from letting me say what I need to say. I am allowed to speak. I am allowed to feel.

People always ask me, "How do you do it? Put yourself out there so freely? It's so brave." No, it's not brave. Probably more stupid than anything else, but it's just who I've always been. Wear my heart on my sleeve. What you see is what you get. An open book. Not often do I shy away from stating my opinion. Maybe I should work on that a bit.

Mysterious should be my new gig.