I wish it was still socially acceptable (expected?) to stomp into my room, slam the door and throw myself down on the bed and cry. How GREAT did that feel as a teenager?!? It’s a small step up from a child’s frenetic temper tantrum, but the flailing drama of it all felt just as good.
Burying my snotty face into shammed pillows… havin’ myself a good cry, a good pout, back when my world just consisted of four NKOTB-clad walls, a telephone, a stereo, some hairbrushes and whatever frustrated me to tears for an hour.
Why can’t growns-ups get away with this? I guess as a teenager there is a naive comfort in the fact that someone did something TO us. Whatever upset us wasn’t our fault. It was out of our control. We were victims (just ask us), prostrate to being 15 years old.
But as adults we’re [usually] in complete control of what upsets us. If someone or thing hurts us we can determine the consequences.
This reality just makes me want to cry and pout more. Not only do I not have the luxury of spare time to cry for an hour, I also don’t have a good excuse not to spend that hour fixing what’s making me want to cry to begin with.
Now I have more than four walls I actually have to pay for and if I cried into my [Proudly Sham-Free Since ’93] pillows, I’d just have to wash out the mascara stains anyway.
Sigh. Responsibility blows.