low, meet lower

i do some event planning. mostly party decorations for large events at my church. imagine a giant room, 200 guests, 20+ tables…and a $500 decorating budget. for real, i’m not kidding. $500. i kill myself for these parties. obviously, i don’t have the budget for flowers or to hire anyone to make anything…so i craft my ass off. oh and did i mention i don’t get paid a dime? this is all volunteer, baby. my weird, introverted, slightly antisocial way to give back, i guess.

the next event is 3 weeks away. i’m making driftwood sailboats. never not once have i NOT completely underestimated the time and sweat and labor these brilliant themes i come up with will take for me to produce. never not once.

can you picture me? arms full of hot glue stick refills, eyelet snaps, fabric, twine, and spray paint at the craft store. and my phone chimes. it’s my husband. checking in from italy. he wanted to tell me how hard this trip has been. how emotional.

i couldn’t believe it. he was finally going to admit that this split is killing him too. that italy was full of reminders of us and telling his family there that we’re over has been so hard and he misses me. us.


this trip has been so hard and emotional because his company is selling. oh and he wanted to know how the kids are.

i’m writing this shaking my head. stupid girl. stupid stupid girl. i cried. cried in line with my arms full. cried the whole way home. couldn’t stop so i cried in my car parked in the garage.

i was low. very low. i don’t know about you, but after i have an emotional dump like that, i get…almost like a hangover. an emotional hangover. all i want to do is stare at the ceiling. low. real real low. like a hangover, it takes a good 24 hours to shake it off. so when i woke up the next morning i was still foggy and groggy. i needed my glasses to be able to see the notification on my phone. the one from my husband’s girlfriend’s husband. the one asking if i knew what the hell was going on.

low, meet lower.

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