Monday, October 18, 2010

Remedies for Emotional Nausea, Anyone?

I end this day just trying to get back to normal.  I've been in a crazy maelstrom of emotions over the past 24...must be ovulating or something.  Is the moon full?

Yesterday, I was randomly invited to a friend of a friend's house for an afternoon of what I thought was going to be old-school board games and home cooking.

By the time we got to the spot--the person who invited me and possessed the directions had apparently gotten a case of the "itis" after brunch, causing a major delay--about three of the attendees remained.  Regardless, they welcomed us with open arms and tilapia and cornbread and strawberry shortcake.

Then, while we dug into some snacks and watched TLC's Sunday estrogen block (Four Weddings, Say Yes to the Dress:  Big Bliss, and Sister Wives) for laughs, the host brought out a "cabbage ball," a large wad of slips of paper containing deeply personal questions.

I HATE those games.  I don't know you, you don't know me, and thus haven't earned the right to know too much about me other than my name, hometown, and the city in which I currently reside.  Um, where's the alcohol?  And the men?

But I played along, because the girls there turned out to be cool but also deeply spiritual/religious, which was interesting.  As we passed the ball around, trying to keep our responses to the questions (e.g., "Have you been in love, and how many times?"  "Recall a near-death experience."  "What's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?") to three minutes or less, I found their personal reflections both endearing and refreshing.

Out of the blue, one particularly deep question I received had me unexpectedly bawling like a fat white woman with a bad perm on Oprah, circa 1988.   I'm not a crier, but anything that makes me think too deeply about my deceased grandmother always takes me to a very emotional place.  Doggone PMS...  So embarrassing, but they were sweet about it. 

We all hung out a little too late, and of course, the convo turned to dating in D.C., of which, I am now 100% sure, is ridiculously difficult for any sister with principles and common sense, regardless of income, educational level, denomination, city of residence, and looks.  I have yet to meet anyone under 35 here who's got it figured out.  It was strangely reassuring.

Oh, and I almost forgot:  One of our last sources of entertainment for the night was watching the "Black Marriage Negotiations Video," which inspired a mix of laughs and SMH.
Today, I just had the unshakable feeling of being drained and talked out.  That happens when you spend 7 hours emotionally vomiting.  I'll get my focus back tomorrow.

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