During my recent Corporate Behemoth-sponsored trip to Boston, I stayed in a handicapped-accessible hotel room. The funny thing about the room was that some misguided housekeeper mistook all of the handrails in the bathroom for towel racks. So, this room with one king-sized bed had no fewer than eight sets of hand towels and washcloths.
The painful thing about the room was a towel hook on the back of the bathroom door. It was about four feet off the ground, so of course I walked right into it at full force.
That was four days ago. This was my arm this morning. I just don’t know why Mr. Date Guy doesn’t think I’m worth any effort. I mean, this is all sorts of sexiness.
And, yeah, it’s sort of gross to post a photo of a bruise on a blog. But on one hand, I just had to share. And on the other … I have received lots of kudos lately for being so honest here. These comments surprise me.
It’s easy to be “so honest” when you don’t have your real name on a random blog. But, to be fair, almost all of my friends and my family know about this blog and just might even read it.
More than that, it all goes back to the bruise. It’s hard to not be authentic when you’re hurt.
When my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer 11 years ago this month, one of the exhilarating side effects was that our family suddenly didn’t have time for shit. We were hurting and had Important Stuff going on, so we just starting cutting to the chase. We didn’t have the energy or the time to pretend like things were ok. We got honest, even when it got ugly.
Same thing happened to me when I broke up with Ex-Ex, and when I broke up with The Ex-Boyfriend Formerly Known as Mr. Wonderful this fall. How could I possibly pretend when I was spending all of my energy on just getting through?
Now that I’m a little more situated, I wonder if and how this authenticity will last. And I’ve decided that I want it to. I’m learning more and more about myself, about who I really am, and this blog is a part of that. I’m finding that I like myself. And why would I not want to be who I really am?
Besides, after a while, this authenticity stuff is really, really easy. It feels lazy. It’s sort of like showing up to work with bedhead. At first you’re sure everyone is staring at you, and then you realize that their hair is all fucked up, too.