Working at the Car Wash.

I wrote about my 60-hour crying jag in an earlier post. At the time, I thought my subconscious was yelling at me to get into the shower and out of the house before I turn into something like:

[No worries; I’m fresh-y-fresh, clean and coiffed as I type.]

Today I am convinced that this crying jag was the final phase of an arduous 16-month exercise in change.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat. 

My tears were disposing my body of the sadness still left behind after months of difficult decisions, introspection and good, old fashioned, hard work. I think of this process as a trip through a car wash. 16 months ago, I drove up to the entrance covered in emotional gunk. I paid the attendant and slowly worked my way through cycles of lather and rinse, scrubbing away the sources of my unhappiness, getting to my shine. It was dark and sometimes scary, violent -- pelted with monstrous strips of heavy, wet regret. Sometimes pleasant, easy -- lathered with encouragement and hope. A few weeks ago I passed through my final rinse and emerged out of the dark tunnel of the car wash and into the brilliant sunlight. 

Beads of water sparkling like diamonds. 

A rainbow in my rear view.

Love, Lelly

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