To the woman crying in public

I focus on the pain, the only thing that's real

Last night was dreary and dark. Depressing. When I drove to meet my friend for drinks it was raining, pitch black as midnight, although it was only 4:45 in the afternoon. Cars streamed from work to home, as much as they ever stream from anywhere to anywhere around here, and I wondered how I hadn’t noticed that it was quote-unquote rush hour. I questioned why I had left so late. “Late.”

Last night I tried to dress up, to look sexy and feminine I guess, although I increasingly question the definition of those words and specifically how they apply to this changed and changing me. Anyway, speaking of change, I changed three times. I ended up in the same exact outfit I wear for everything now. Dates. Thanksgiving. Going to see live music. School events. Running errands. And last night. A black corduroy button down shirt, black Levi’s, and short black rain boots. I have turned into Johnny Cash this past year, it started last November when I bought two of the exact same shirts at a vintage shop (what are the odds?) Then I bought three different pairs of black Levi’s. Levi’s have never let me down and I don’t why I keep forgetting that, auditioning all these newcomers who have never fit my body right. Anyway, there is simply nothing to be done about it at this point. I’m the woman in black, dressed like a man. This is the only outfit that works now, I am convinced. I don’t fuss or fidget in it. I do not need to check myself out in the mirror. I know exactly how I look.

Last night I met my friend for drinks in what must be the darkest bar in “metropolitan” Burlington. I have come to love this bar in the past year although that doesn’t mean I’m there often. I think I love it because it feels like I’m in a city when I’m there and with each passing month that’s where I would prefer to be. It’s expensive and busy, lately we’ve had to put our names in just to get a seat at the bar. Last time we waited an hour and a half to sit down. It was worth it.

Last night within ten minutes of seeing my friend and hugging her, I started to cry at that bar that faces other people, this bar that makes me feel like I’m in a city, and I can tell you that it wasn’t about one thing but about everything and I didn’t care who noticed. It should be obvious by now, but I don’t really give a shit what people think about me. Love me? Your funeral I guess. Hate me? I mean, fair. Anyway, if I lived and died by others’ opinions I certainly wouldn’t write this newsletter.

Last night I realized how much November had swallowed me whole and made me feel cold and gloomy and full of despair. Trapped for the one millionth time. I had tasted freedom and felt completely exhilarated by it and now look at me. Fuck.

Last night I vented to someone who loves me and who I love and I guess I always underestimate what time with a friend will do for my heart and my head. My sense of being alive in this cruel, idiotic, and fucked up beautiful world. It’s spiritual and medicinal, perfectly mundane and completely necessary. How easy it is to downplay it as if it isn’t the one thing that’s keeping most of us going. Emotional oxygen.

Last night, later in the conversation, between the bursts of laughter and scooting down a couple of spots so someone else could get in, after the scary updates and kid updates, work talk and cracking jokes, we got onto something else and I started to cry again. Fuck’s sake. I reached into my bag for the Kleenex packs I carry with me all the time now, because when we moved I unearthed roughly fifteen of them. I think they were years of stocking stuffers that no one ever used but me.

Last night, before I had a chance to pull even one Kleenex out of the pack, our bartender silently swept in, gently placed several black cocktail napkins near my hand, and without a word went right back to her work.

Last night, at the end of the night, I tipped her generously. I jotted a quick thank you for the napkins and drew a heart on my receipt like we were in 8th grade. I’m telling you there is a sisterhood out there. Even though I’ve experienced it before, I keep forgetting about it too. I’ll feel alone (different than lonely) and wonder where everyone is (without bothering to look around or ask) and just like that a friend will show up to listen and a bartender will silently drop napkins by my hand. Because the women know. The women have always known.

Last night, as I drove home, I was reminded of this poem. And I felt like a part of the world again.

---

Hey hey people: 20% off an annual subscription ends December 10th. This discount also applies to (annual) gift subscriptions so buy one or three now for your most miserable friends and schedule them to arrive later!

You can find my books here. You can find more of my writing here. You can find me over on Instagram. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll find me crying in public!