It's Not A Tumor

If it were a tumor - a doctor could cut it out - and after a bit of recovery, I would be back to normal. But it's not a tumor. I went shopping online today for a wristlet. I need a clutch or something small or something...something. Today when I went to tan, I unexpectedly had to use my debit card and when I pulled it out of my back pocket, along with receipts and dollar bills, I thought - this is not very girly. I'm not a purse person. But I'm hoping I can be a clutch person. Something is most definitely wrong with me. When did I become an adult? And why was I not consulted? I can remember when my biggest concern was that the thick summer air trapped the smell of smoke on my clothes, sitting outside on a milk crate with Kim. Pretending to inhale. Afraid my mom would notice. Now there's so much more. My mood swings are out of control these days. This was originally an email to Kim, which I've now scrapped...because she'd probably laugh at me for writing it. Originally an email to her because she's known me longest. She knows me. I've always handled a lot. A lotta work load. A lotta drama. A lotta lotta. The only thing I prided myself on was the ability to handle just about anything. Something in me has changed. I've grown tired. I no longer have patience. My moods move faster than I can explain. I'm completely lost. And here's the thing...I know better. I know that this is what life is supposed to be. People change. Life can be mundane for a while - too exciting one minute - then too tragic the next. We feel nothing - what is it? - comfortably numb - and feel all too much the next. When did we come to the point in our lives that leaves us dealing with things like death? Loneliness and losing friends and jobs and making ends meet and children and relationships and the lack of relationships? And parents getting sick and people getting married...When did things get so heavy? And how do we not crush under the pressure? It's life, right? It's the way things are supposed to go as we get older. Maybe sometimes life itself can be tiring. Not just any one event. And all you can hope to get out of it is a pillow. One day I'm a big roomy bag to hold my life in...the next - I'm clutching on to the essentials... If it were a tumor, a doctor could cut it out...