Life sometimes hits you like a bus. Or a train. Or one of those tankers. Sometimes things happen and you don't want to share anything about it. Sometimes shit just occurs out of no where, but you kind of half expected it because that's what you get when you eat your weight in sketchy tacos from the sketchy food truck. But then you think to yourself if you don't tell anyone, if you don't talk about it, if you continue to act like it's not a big deal... it'll go away. It doesn't. FYI. Your brain will just explode. (That may not be a medical fact but I feel pretty sure in its accuracy). That's where I am currently at. Brain exploding. Sketchy taco. Words piling up, needing to come out but not finding their way (unless it's 1 am and I'm trying to sleep). And so I decided to write. Writing helps me process. I'm much better at writing than I am talking. In fact, that's all I did growing up. I wrote. I filled notebook after notebook with stories and ideas and jokes and concepts and feelings. Because I feel big. No really. I feel everything. I cry with everything (angry tears, sad tears, happy tears).
I'm a very happy individual (no really, it's true). But sometimes I feel more like Eeyore than Tigger. And that's okay. It's okay not to be happy all the time. It's okay to struggle. It's okay to have life knock you on your ass every now and then. You aren't perfect. Neither am I.
When we got married we had this picture perfect idea of what our lives would be like. It's easy to imagine life without all the buses and trains and tankers. But life isn't really life without those struggles. The struggles is what makes the victory feel... victorious. It makes the win worth it. So even though, maybe, our life together isn't the picture we imagined.... we painted a pretty damn good one. It's not perfect either. But that's kind of what makes it beautiful.
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