I’m frustrated.

About a few things.  Normally I don’t have a problem articulating how I’m feeling.  In many different ways, electronically and in person, and probably in another language if I thought it would help get my point across.

However, this is one of the few instances where I’m just frustrated and can’t seem to find the words to express it.

I feel like I’m between lost and found.  I recently found out so much about myself, only to feel like I lost a part again.  Trying to find the balance between what I want, and what I realistically can have.  I have poor equilibrium.  Balancing is for people who enjoy the circus, peanuts and elephant poop.  Maybe, Maybe, No. 

I’m so tired of hearing “it just takes time”.  Or, “just be patient”.  It’s like telling the Pope not to be Catholic.  It just doesn’t happen.  And if it does happen, it’s because of some monumental life-altering experience, or possession by a demon.  Or like putting a fudge pop in front of a younger (let’s be real, or even now) me and telling me to watch it melt… but do not eat, lick, or save it from being melted, or wasted.  NOT POSSIBLE.   

I sometimes feel like I’m just about to burst.  On the edge of something so great and brilliant, I’ll probably need SPF and sunglasses when it finally breaks through. Only to see the clouds roll over again. Most likely, as soon as I stop bringing my shades and sunglasses, it will happen and then I’ll be blind and red like a lobster and won’t be able to enjoy it anyways.

Also, I haven’t danced nearly enough lately.  This is probably lending to at least 37% of my restless-body-mind syndrome.  I haven’t done the Tootsie roll, dropped it like it’s hot, or shaken it like a Polaroid picture in so long… it’s truly unacceptable.  I need one of those dance until you are inappropriately sweaty for being vertical and walking like you’ve been in a saddle for 12 hours the next day because you spent so much time on your knees (on the dance floor, don’t be dirty) and you have 3 mystery bruises in places that only dancing on a pole would give you… kind of nights.

You know, the kind of night where after about picture 12 your eyes are red, your hair is plastered to your face, and you keep going… Who is that?  Why was I/you/we/her/him (all possible) touching him there?  Am I pretending to swipe a credit card across his… ohhhhhh.  Untag, untag, untag…. damn facebook.

Now, I’ve gotten all fired up about this, am typing… drinking my coffee… and now need to remove the layers I put on when i was colder (pre coffee and ranting).  Seriously, life is rough.  I say this about 72% sarcastically… 25% whoa-is-me…  3% i’m fricken serious.

*** Footnote ***

Spellcheck tried to change Tootsie Roll to Footsie Roll… I don’t know what that is, but I spent enough time thinking about it to let me know I’m far to interested in figuring it out. 

Happy Monday.


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