So there is no Goat story yet. Its worth the wait I swear! This is why:
Years ago, that’s what my Dad said as I sat by my pool on a rare sunny but cold Seattle morning, tears streaming, snot running down my face. I was trying to explain what I felt when we lived on Orcas Island.
Today I was laying in my bathtub while taking a shower. Yes, I lay down in the shower–you should try it, its wonderful. I could lay there all day. This time, I was trying to get my back to crack. The cool ceramic surface is perfect for cracking my back.
As I was twisting and turning and shifting and getting satisfying clicks I started thinking about the cover letter I was trying to write for a nursing application. This reminded me of that story I wanted to share with you which in turn brought up a flood of emotion about that place, that time. I started bawling.
Yes, I was laying, naked, trying to crack my back, bawling in the shower. That’s fucking therapy.
Orcas Island was a time for collision: we moved there when I was in 5th grade, I was a complete reject at school, it was such a painintheass to get to that we flew back and forth to my Moms (PDX to Seattle to Bellingham to Orcas), my close relationship with my stepsister exploded, and I felt so horribly alone, so fucking horribly alone. It got worse before it got better.
Fuck, I am bawling again. God, I am such a crier now.
So that is how far I got before I started crying…again. Part of it was one portion of the story which describes my most embarrassing/humiliating moment. It is not a cute period story (all woman have those–or at least I hope they do because I definitly have some cosmo worthy ones). It is just utterly sad and pathetic. So I am going to start again, not think about it to much, and tell the fucking goat story if I have to sit at a computer for a week crying. I will do it and it will be good.