I had the mail held until today's delivery, so there were no unpaid, unopened, annoying envelopes on the counter. I connected an old friend with a new friend and felt renewed hope that things may really change for the better. I sent a contribution to Mayors Against Illegal Guns and laughed about me sending money to Michael Bloomberg. Pilates was strengthening and the vibration machine at PT had me just-about-gliding across the gym floor.
Life was good.
The phone rang. We didn't recognize the number on caller id, but it was local and I thought it might be a friend. It wasn't.
It was a man who identified himself as an on-line reporter for a local television station. He wondered if I'd seen the photos.
Like a fool, I said, "What photos?"
"The new one's the sheriff's department has just released," led my brain to wonder why the Pima County Sheriff was releasing photos of the devastation in Oklahoma. I began to prepare a statement of hope and love and encouragement for those whose houses and loved ones are no more. I seem to get these calls after every tragedy; I usually decline to comment. But this voice sounded young and I'm all about encouragement and I had a smile on my face right up until he finished his sentence with, "from January 8th."
"NO ! ! ! !"
No, I hadn't seen them. No, I didn't want him to bring them up when he arrived to interview me. No. No. No. "I'm hanging up now."
My head is exploding. He intruded upon my beautiful day and brought up images I have no wish to revisit. I miss Christina-Taylor every day; I don't need a photograph to remind me of the most awful part of our relationship. The actual memory is seared on my brain.
And what in the world did he hope to gain from having me relive it again? Why would he think that I would travel there with him, a total stranger, uninterested in me as anything but the next "big get"?
I know. He was just doing his job. His job ruined my day.
I'm getting pretty good at recovering from these little PTSD moments. I'll swim for a long time and get my heart pumping and feel the sun on my back and my body buoyed and able to lunge with impunity. I'll see Shannon's magic fingers for a massage and come home to the dinner TBG will put in the oven after his massage. I'm not going to let it win.
Even after letting the venom seep out my fingertips and onto the keyboard, I'm still battling with unwanted thoughts. Before I do anything, I'm going to finish cropping the pictures which were going to be today's post... before the phone rang and I ended up here in the middle of Peeved Street. Here's a teaser for you.
As I've said before, as I'll say again:
It is impossible to be sad when little ones are smiling at you.
I feel better already!