The Jaywalker.

If I were to tell you that I jaywalked and got hit by a car and broke my leg, you’d probably feel a little bad for me. But after my leg healed, what if I jaywalked again and got hit and broke my arm? And then while I was still in my cast, I jaywalked once more and got hit and ended up in a full fucking body cast. You’d say I was insane.


This is pretty much what I do with Austin. We fight. We talk. We have space. We try to handle each other. I get emotional. He gets weird and evasive. I blow up and act like a crazy bitch. We start the cycle over.


You think I would have learned my lesson by now, but apparently I need to be smacked over the head with it a half dozen times before it sinks in. Although, I’ve been run over by it more than once already, so I’m not sure what it’s gonna take. I’ve got fucking skid marks on my forehead, but I’m pretty stubborn, so maybe I need like a bulldozer to knock me over to get it.


I have the sweetest friends in the world. Perhaps too sweet. When I called them in tears this weekend for the gazillionth time, they all said the same thing. I will learn my lesson when I learn it and I shouldn’t beat myself up for making mistakes. I was really hoping one of them would smack me and tell me to snap the fuck out of it. But no, they told me I torture myself enough already and refused to add to it.


I woke up Sunday, wishing I could hide under my covers forever. I felt like I had reverted back to the old me. The impulsive, emotional me. I had prepared myself to lay in bed and sulk till I had to go to this photography session. Then my friend called and insisted I come to the gym with her, saying it would make me feel better. In fact, although she insists it wasn’t, I’m pretty sure it was the hardcore boxing. I was drenched in sweat and ready to die 15 minutes in. So, I guess that was her way of punishing me.


But while I was laying there during the cool-down part and thanking God I made it through, I realized something. I’d only be the “old me” if I hid and continued to beat myself up. Growing up is about getting back in the saddle, even if it’s the last fucking place you want to be. Even if you’ve alienated half of the city with your actions. Even if it means subjecting yourself to, as Glee’s Sue Sylvester says, “cruel, slow motion laughter directed at you.” It sucks, but you gotta do it.


Kind of like potty training. It’s way easier to just, you know, poop yourself and let other people clean up your messes. But, when you finally master the art of pooping on a toilet, you realize all the hard work is totally worth not having to sit around in your own shit.