Managing the ups and downs.

Over the course of the last week, I have found myself on an emotional roller coaster. From confident, joyful and full-of-beans one day:
  • I am going to package my skills and knowledge together and give birth to my new, fabulous portfolio career! 
  • I’m launching my own direct sales business! 
  • I am going to raise thousands of dollars for a local church and change lives! 
  • I am going to lose 10 pounds! 
  • I am “this close” to finding the love of my life! 
...and crying my eyes out in panic and despair the next. I literally spent 2 and a half days on a crying jag, a la Diane Keaton in “Something’s Got to Give.”

Driving and crying
Baking and crying
Eating and crying (and then crying while standing on the scale)
Knitting and crying
Vacuuming and crying

Hmmm...something was wrong. My subconscious was literally crying for attention. Was I mourning my recently deceased love relationship? Suffering from depression? Succumbing to the isolation brought on by living and working alone? What was the source of all this misery and despair?

Somehow I've been managing to get things done, but I was on a scary, slippery downward slope. I was a heartbeat away from being that woman in the liquor store in her slippers and bathrobe and 3 good teeth, playing Keno with her unemployment check, bragging that she “used to be on TV.” 

My week at  a glance:

Tuesdays, Thursdays, Fridays: sitting at the dining room table watching the Golden Girls and stalking Facebook -- in my pajamas and coffee and wine-stained bathrobe --- my hair in its “I slept in my own sweat” fright wig state, mascara down to my chin. Last night’s cookie crumbs in the corners of my mouth.

Mondays, Wednesdays, Saturdays: laying on the couch flipping between HGTV, Food Network and Bravo and stalking Facebook -- in my still-damp Zumba clothes, leaving sweat rings on my sofa pillows and stinking to high heavens.

Sundays, God Bless me. I shower and do the Globe crossword and go to Mass before I hit the couch or the kitchen for marathon baking.

It is time to Pull.My.Sh*t.Together.

As I write this, I am sitting in Panera Bread, a living, breathing suburban cliche. (Seriously, if you had told me “Helen, in April 2011, you will be BLOGGING in freaking ShoppersWorld.” You have been in for a bitch-slap.) There’s someone hunched over a MacBook Pro on either side of me. Three silver, glowing apples in a row, sipping our designer coffees.

It’s ok. I smell good. My hair is combed and I’m wearing lipstick and a shiny new necklace. My subconscious is cool with this.

Love, Lelly

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