It overflowed

Wednesdays for the past few weeks have been total train-wrecks.
From drinking a couple glasses too much of the cheap, three dollar wine I picked up at TJ's and barfing it up, to finding out about new relationships on painful anniversaries, to getting unexpected messages which throw your entire day into chaos; hump-day has presented some pretty difficult humps to slump myself over.

Today was not really any different. I woke up, saw the mountain of clothes on my floor, remembered how anxious I had been the past three days, remembered how I had a midterm exam to do tonight and how I had to go to my internship earlier than usual. I don't do well with inconsistencies, and today was full of them. So I did something consistent

I took my morning poop.

And I clogged the toilet (this is not consistent)

Which would all be fine, if this had not been the second time this had happened this year. And that would not matter if toilet clogging was not one of my "top five more irrational triggers of anxiety and shame". (it's been a thing since sleepaway camp, ask anyone who was ever in my cabin if they knew I pooped [they didn't, because I never did])

So I huffed a big sigh, grabbed the plunger and did what I know how to do well.

and it didn't work

all day
it didn't work

So when I got home at 10:30 tonight, after a long day of work, headaches, messy rooms and stupid exams, and it was STILL CLOGGED, I felt nothing.

Which is new for me.

usually, this would have set me over, and my roommates got that. They apologized profusely for not attending to it. They asked if they could help. and I was so calm.

I knew it had to be done. I knew it would be fine.
It overflowed once. It took half a roll of paper towels to sopp it up. I got some on my shoes. It's fine.

The point is. That today the literal shit overflowed and it dodn't phase me like it should have.

I think, if this year has taught me anything, it's that I can roll with the punches. Because after terrible Wednesdays there is literally always a wonderful Thursday.

If the toilet clogs, there is always a promise that it will loosen up and release. Today, for the first time, I don't want to cry because my poop sometimes doesn't flush the right way.

So, c'mon Wednesdays, keep it coming. I have a plunger, and I am ready.

Someone told me I'd be good at radio once.

It's because I used to be able to fooling people into thinking I had a passionate voice.

But lately,
my voice just feels flat.
Like any air I had in my lungs that inflated what I said
got let out.
Like I've let it out.

What's scary about this is that passion is pretty much the only word I would use to define myself.

Passion drives me.
God made me passionate.
I get passionate about most things (like doughnuts, and injustice, and feminism, and Palestine, and boots)

but now anytime I have to talk about that
it feels routine.

Like when radio announcers have to do plugs for brands of businesses that sponsor them,
And you can tell that the announcer really does like the hair salon he goes to, but he's so tired of telling people that he just wants to be quiet.

I'm in that boat.
I feel like a regurgitated sound track
Like the last stop of a stand-up-comedy-world-tour.
(There is no way those jokes feel funny 100 stops later).
Right?

What's scary about feeling like a slightly dilapidated balloon,
is that this is a lack of buoyancy is not something I have ever felt.

It isn't empty, I have felt empty.

It just feels like there's something that used to help intensify this passion which I suppressed or internalized in some weird, unconscious way. It feels like I'm protecting myself from the failure that I feel is inevitable with graduation looming around the corner.

It feels like my whole life is two baggy, sleep deprived eyes. And like there is no way I could ever pretend that I could do radio announcements anymore.

I don't know how to tend to this decaying space.
I don't know how to rejuvinate.

I feel helpless.

Like a radio announcer who has lost her voice.