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  • Writer's pictureLeah Jones

Stop the leaks… not the washing machine, not my ceiling…

Today it wasn’t my washing machine or the ceiling or the toilet or the faucets that were leaking, but my eyes. I burst (or nearly burst) into tears so many times today. All I have to say is that my period better start soon, cause I can’t handle this moodiness. Could it at least be for something good? Could it be for a true tragedy? Something so wonderful I cry? Losing my foot in a freak accident in a puddle of mud?

No. Today it was a slight that didn’t even happen. Some co-workers were taken out to lunch and released early. Nobody was in the office to take me to lunch or release me early, so I had to stay at work all day. That is fine. I got up knowing I had to go to work for the day and knowing it would be quiet. Not expecting anyone to take me to lunch or release me early. But when it didn’t happen? Crying mess in Cubicle 4D. I relocated to the handicap stall, but it was around 11:15 and everyone and their cousing had to use the john, so I couldn’t just cry for five minutes.

Then everytime I thought about it for the rest of the day? I started to cry again. I was CRYING because I had to stay at work on a workday. What?

After work I was very excited, I was going to Tango class and then meeting a friend to go into the akashic records to examine some money/love/work issues I’m having. Class was disappointing–two people came who were total beginners, which would be fine if it wasn’t the final class of the five week run. So instead of learning the move we started last week, it was back to basics. Plus we matched up men to women, so I also didn’t get to dance with the teacher (except for maybe once as an example.)

So I started to cry while I was dancing, because most of the men in class couldn’t lead. Come on! LEAD. YOU ARE THE MAN, this is tango. Hold your arms strong, take smaller steps, take the right steps. Not that I’m perfect, far from it, but please, I beg you, lead.

When class ended, I was putting on my boots and listening to messages. The message? that my friend didn’t want to hang out in the end.

Fuck. What a terrible horrible no good very bad day, but it wasn’t really. I have a job, I have a family, I can afford to take dance classes, I’ve improved in my dancing. Things are actually fine. But for whatever reason, I still want to cry.

I think I’ll have a chocolate truffle.

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