Zen On Dirt

Guilt of Happiness

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I’m supposed to be devastated right now.  I should be wallowing in misery, drinking excessively, wondering how my life had come to this.  How my life as I knew it came tumbling down in the space of three weeks from the moment we first had the discussion: Are we going to try to fix this or go our separate ways?

 

That was nearly six weeks ago.

A lot of tears have flowed since then.  Every time I thought I’d hit rock bottom, I’d sink lower.  Much peanut butter and ice cream was sacrificed.  I treated myself badly.  Far too many mornings were greeted with, ‘Not another day, I can’t deal with it.  Can I just sleep some more?  Just a few more hours of unconsciousness.’

 

Last night, I couldn’t sleep.  Buzzing with excitement.  Constructing a flow chart for life.  There were no dead-ends, just infinite possibilities.  I was literally wiggling out of my skin.

I feel guilty over this.  I’m not following the rules. Regardless, I am ecstatic because of it.

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