Strongly Worded

It's Like a Navajo Sandwich at the Cheesecake Factory

OK, so very very soon I will stop wallowing and reclaim my upbeat, cheery persona, and blog about something other than my fascinating sorrow. I promise. I am planning to pull myself up by my bootstraps, actively pursue new activities, and plan a new vacation sans Guy.

But I just want to say, before the window for petulance completely closes, that this is not what I want to do. You know how you go to a restaurant, say, the Cheesecake Factory, and you're looking forward to a particular tasty combination of flavors? Let's just say it's the Navajo Sandwich, all that veggie goodness rolled up in fry bread. And you're sitting in the booth, and the server shows up with those water glasses with the black straws, and informs you that they're fresh out of the ingredients? And asks if you want a turkey club instead? And you're shattered, because you don't want a turkey club, or even avocado eggrolls; you don't want the amazing eggplant sandwich, or any sandwich other than the one you've been craving all day? Even if those other entrees are objectively delicious, none of them will hit the mark because they are not what you originally wanted.

Such is my current state of mind. Yes, I will engage in enriching, distracting activities (like that Photoshop class at the Center for Adult Education, or parallel parking lessons at Friendship Auto School, or volunteering with the campaign for expanded access to health insurance). And yes, I will go on a different vacation, one that is not Romance in Paris. And yes, I will find another lovely boyfriend (please please let it be soon). But in the mean time, this situation is not what I originally wanted, which was to enjoy a peaceful summer in the Guy's centrally air-conditioned apartment, and then take off for Paris in the Fall, and then happily ever after.

I was talking to my extraordinarily supportive friends E. and A. yesterday, and we were talking about Ferberizing, which is a philosophy that, in a nutshell, prescribes letting a baby cry on its own at bedtime until (s)he learns to "self-comfort." Babies learn to soothe themselves by sucking their thumbs or cuddling with blankets. Eventually they stop wailing for mom and learn to deal with the frustration of sleeplessness on their own. While we all recognized that adults can soothe themselves by wailing to others (via blog, visits, calls, and emails to close supportive friends) I am hoping that soon I can stop wailing altogether.

'Til then ...

Posted by Dori at 3:52 PM