Yeoman's Omens

We had a good run. I'm not superstitious, but I think The Shirt once had special powers. It was ancient and thin and felt like silk. Almost like lingerie. Almost.

I was wearing the shirt here: http://goldheartedsociopath.blogspot.com/2010/12/i-have-never-relied-on-kindness-of.html and here: http://goldheartedsociopath.blogspot.com/2010/10/personal-floatation-devices.html  and a bunch of other times that were real turnaround moments for me.

We had a good run, but I should have known that The Shirt's days were numbered. I pulled it on for the bus ride to New York a week ago, and noticed that the ribbed collar was about to separate from the body of The Shirt. I paused, but wore it anyway. I responsibly packed a lunch, and emptied the fridge's produce into my purse so it wouldn't go to waste. At the border, the guard lectured me while confiscating my orange, and waved the English cucumber in my face before handing it back to me, saying, "I don't want it. It's Canadian." Yes. I had a cucumber in my purse. What? I didn't want it to go to waste. Plus, cucumber is a refreshing snack. I almost got sent back to Toronto because I only had a one way ticket, and no proof of employment. The child behind me only stopped his incessant coughing in order to begin noisily vomiting. I nearly wrecked my ankle (again) squeezing through a turnstile with my huge bag. I got in and immediately looked for something else to wear. And that's when I discovered that I'd managed to pack only two other t-shirts.

I had no choice. I bought other shirts. One showed early promise, but is at least temporarily suspended after suspected involvement in Friday's TERRIBLE DAY. The second drew mixed results: a cute guy stopped me to pet the dog, and then bought me a hot dog. However, as I waited on line, a small British child asked if she could 'stroke' the dog, and then the dog growled at her, earning me a lovely stink eye from her parents. The third shirt, I managed to stain within 3 hours of putting on. Thanks again, boob shelf. I have one other option, but I'm not feeling it yet.

But really, these things, these shirts, these signs I'm searching for, they're just distractions. They're reasons not to blame myself for fucking up. Reasons not to blame others for letting me down. Reasons to continue moving forward. Reasons to deflect from the uncertainty and vague anxiety I have about the rest of this year. Gratitude lives in a bag of everything bagels from Brooklyn, and walking a dog in the warm sunshine with your favourite Pixies song on infinite repeat. Comfort comes in small gestures, the hugs I allow myself to receive, the compliments I accept, the love I give, and a new pair of low-cut chucks. It's easy to sit around and wait for the other shoe to drop, but I've worked pretty hard to force myself out of that pattern of thinking. I'm just going to put the first shoe back on, dammit. We're all naked under our stupid lucky shirts, anyway.