Catharsis

The dam burst last night. 

Thanks to "The Hobbit" and a bottle of wine, I suffered a major meltdown, complete with body-wracking sobs, tears dripping all over my glasses, and gasping breaths. And once it started, I couldn't stop, I couldn't control it...it took on a life of its own. To make matters worse, I then decided, in my drunken stupor, that putting on headphones and listening to Benedict Cumberbatch whisper sweet nothings into my soul would be bene-ficial. At some point I decided to go outside, and to the pool (the pool - a place I hadn't been to ONCE in all the years I've lived where I do). The night was beautifully soft and warm, and I had the entire (warm) pool to myself. Even better, the pool had a very shallow section (only about 6" deep) with two low chairs set right in the middle of it. I plopped down on one, and used the other as a footrest. Oh, did I mention I was in a long (maxi) dress? So there I sat, Benedict's melted-butter voice reciting Keats in my ears, in my now soaking wet dress, the soft breeze caressing my skin, and me boo-hooing my eyes out.

It was sheer bliss. 

After awhile the tears dried up, but I let Benedict's soothing voice go on and on. It doesn't matter man says or reads or narrates - could be the phone book for all I care - he has the most glorious voice ever. I dozed off and on for awhile until a couple decided to come to the pool for some basketball. Not a euphemism - they really were splashing about, tossing a ball into a floating hoop, completely destroying the peaceful reverie of my self-induced pity party. So I decided it was time for bed.

I wobbled back to my apartment, my wet clothes clinging to me, the A/C making them feel absolutely frigid against my body. I stripped them off, crawled into bed, and had lovely dreams about ... what, I can't remember. However, upon waking, I felt ... well, better, actually. A bit clearer. And it was actually early. Ish. Before 9 AM even, a record. I guess it's true what they say about having a good cry. It really is cathartic. All those pesky emotions must rise up and get boiled out through one's tears.

So a new day cometh ... I just have to figure out what to do with it.  Movie? Museum? I know I have to get out of the house at some point, even if it's just running to Walmart.