Volatile

For the past few weeks, I've been so incredibly happy. I'm finding peace with my career options, I'm working at the most flexible, stable, generous job I've ever had, I've been delighting in the small things I'm able to accomplish by living a lowkey lifestyle. I bake a lot, I clean, I take long walks after dinner, I spend some great quality time with old and new friends.

I spent the majority of work today clicking my fingers on the keyboard, finishing some odds and ends, looking forward to the weekend. And because life is funny this way, in one instant I was laughing with a coworker and in the very next, I locked myself in an empty office and laid on the ground, sobbing into the carpet while my cousin reminded me over the phone to breathe and breathe and breathe.

I have always been a sensitive person. I can blame that on hormones or the fact that I'm an actor or I can just accept that this is the way I have always been. I'm wired to take things personally, I often react dramatically, I usually always cry, I'm sorry if that makes you uncomfortable.

I don't drink to numb my pain, I don't yell. I don't turn to chocolate, I don't break dishes. I tend to rearrange furniture. Or reorganize my closet. And then I go for a long run. These are all coping mechanisms that I draw on after the pain is slowly making its way out of me.

Initially, when the hurt hits me dead on, unexpectedly, out of nowhere, I lay down on a carpet because it makes me feel safe. Sometimes I talk to no one, sometimes I talk to God. I like to say, "This is pain, this is pain," so I can experience it fully, recognize it and let it go. It helps me understand that it is temporary and that it will pass.

I've been finding this blog restrictive lately. It seems everything I need or want to say is hindered by the fact that people read this or *could* read this. I know that seems ridiculous since the point of a blog is to have an audience, but it's become more of a challenge for me as I find less and less that I want to share with the general public. (And by general public, I mean the 4 of you who read this. Hi. Hello. You have great hair!)

I want to be honest and write from my heart. I want to tell you about the delicious peach-apricot cobbler I baked last night. I want to tell you that my ex-boyfriend passed me in the street on Monday night and shot me a look full of so much hatred, I wanted to scream at him that his bitterness is not my fault. I want to tell you that that has nothing to do with the heartbreak I experienced today. I want to tell you so much about that and about the overall way life has been overwhelming for me this year.

But if I admit that to you, then it means that things are not really okay. And for the most part, things are completely okay, they are beyond okay, they are magnificent and miraculous and I'm grateful. Today was just one of those days and I wanted to document it here so I would remember it.

Dear Laura,

Sometimes you are sad.

Sometimes you are happy.

You are always special.

And ridiculously physically attractive.

Love,
Laura

Tonight, I sat on my couch for a long time and stared at the wall. Then I put on Alanis Morissette's new album and sang and danced around my living room. When I was sufficiently exhausted, my bestest buddy brought over some Thai food and we talked and I maybe cried a little. And then I painted my entire dining room bright blue.

In case you were wondering, it is absolutely fantastic, getting better and better by the minute.

And so am I.