Yesterday I experienced that last straw—you know, the one that broke that poor camel's back. Little moments that irked me collected on my shoulders without my realizing it. They hid under my hair and behind my ears and in my sleeves. They weighed down my shoulders. So, without knowing why, I felt as if I had to keep them tight—as if my arms would fall off otherwise. At one point during the day, I noticed this tension. I made a conscious effort to attempt to relax them and push them back down, but once I became distracted again they lifted right back to their taut position. This continued throughout the day until all my little moments had no choice but to show themselves when the last moment arrived. "Straw," I'll call him, was just too heavy to sit on my shoulders.


Right before Straw showed up, I had the best of intentions to meet some girlfriends at my biweekly Pilates class. As soon as I got home, I heated up a Lean Cuisine while listening to my sister divulge the latest about her new boyfriend. While feigning excitement, I punched 5-4-5 on the microwave and hit start. When five minutes and 45 seconds were up, my sister and I hung up the phone and I took my Roasted Garlic Chicken over to my dining room table, a.k.a. the couch.


As I plopped down on the couch—I really shouldn't have plopped—I unknowingly tipped the plastic tray. The (apparently) boiling sauces in my Lean Cuisine spilled backwards into my hand. The pain traveled from my fingers tips, up my arms and into my shoulders. Each little moment I harbored throughout the day was seared. In my rage I threw the Lean Cuisine onto my brick floor. Those moments then crawled out from under my hair, behind my ears, and inside my sleeves. They showed themselves one by one, shrugging their shoulders as they presented me with their bad news--as if I was watching the Ring Girls at a boxing match hold up each of their signs displaying all that I had ignored and stored under my hair that day. Once I reached this climax, all my angst came out of my eyes and flowed down my face. Moments later I cleaned the sauce off my floor and couch and called Aubrey. "I'm not going to Pilates," I simply stated.


Afterwards I ate a room temperature dinner and made a point to watch uplifting television. My sour mood soon faded. I'm not sure if it was guilt for not going to Pilates or because I'm still a child inside, but later I watched about 10 seconds of a woman on a mini trampoline and about ten minutes later I found myself at Wal-Mart purchasing one of my very own. I went home, assembled it, and enjoyed bouncing in my living room. It's amazing how much fun something as simple as jumping can be.


So, yes, long story short: I now have a trampoline and a burn on my hand. But the burn has since faded and the trampoline is surprisingly fun. So, folks, although it didn't start as such, this is a happy story.


[Child closes book]: But don't take my word for it!

This is what I want you to know:

I'm waiting for a time when happiness will be mine. Until then I will wait and wish and regret and hope. Until then I will sit alone in the dark, waiting to feel your happiness. To see what it's like. A moment in your world going fast, as I wait silently in mine. Until then I will write and collect and laugh and dream and sigh and nod and cry and wonder and try to forget. The buzz of my alarm reminds me that I'm awake. It's time to do it all over again.