Well I am not at home this week. Instead I am house and chicken sitting for my Dad and step mom in my hometown. It's been a horribly stressful week (yes I am aware that it's only Wednesday) and I really just want to go home.
When I read Elizabeth Gilbert's book, Eat, Pray, Love, I identified with her description of crying on the bathroom floor. I've been a bathroom floor cryer for a long time. It's not that I find the bathroom particularly comforting but it's generally the one room in a house that you have complete privacy for a meltdown. It's also actually really efficient since you are not out of reach of things to wipe your tears on.
So after a nasty, angry, vicious phone call with someone who has been a friend for far too long, I find myself sitting at my Dad's kitchen table in tears. And it doesn't feel right because this is not my home. Once again I am in tears, having a cry, sitting on a bathmat. I am angry that this person made me feel this way. I'm tired. I'm hungry. I'm stressed beyond belief right now. How dare he.
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