I've got an anthem for the past few months, and I before you mock me for quoting Fergie, know that my ten year old daughter leaves few oppurtunities for more "sophisticated" listening. But somehow, on some weird dimensional zit, I've found that Fergie channeled me and wrote a song about the experience:
I hope you know, I hope you know
That this has nothing to do with you
It's personal, myself and I
We've got some straightenin' out to ...
..But I've got to get a move on with my life
It's time to be a big girl now
And big girls don't cry
Don't cryDon't cryDon't cry
The path that I'm walkingI must go alone
I must take the baby steps 'til I'm full grown, full grown
Fairytales don't always have a happy ending, do they?
And I foresee the dark ahead if I stay....
...But it's time for me to go home
It's getting late, dark outsideI need to be with myself and center, clarity
Peace, Serenity
I suppose that could be interpreted a few ways.
Delta and I are happy. My children are fine. I have a house and a car and clothes and food on my table in embarrassing quantities. (And the ass to prove it) But you know, you pass go a hundred times and never notice. It's the one time you land in jail that really gets your attention. An awful lot depends on the way the dice fall.
I don't know how much detail I should reveal. Delta would tell me I should keep my business to myself, but how can I? I've never been able to. And besides, the path I've walked is ugly, scary, dark and full of things waiting to suck the beating heart from your chest. And walking it reduces a person to nothing more than a pile of ashes. I'm too humiliated by my own mind turning on me to write about it yet I'm sure, having survived it, that someday someone is going to need what I learned while I was out there. Someday someone else is going to be where I was, and you know what? I came back with a map. But most of all, I came back.
