Meh

I'm not sure why everytime I sit down to write I'm struck with absolutely nothing to say.

My life is currently full of thoughts that shouldn't be published. Which, technically, is what most of this website is...stuff I think that I probably shouldn't write.

But where's the fun in that.

In Old San Juan I lost my luggage. Every day thousands of people lose their luggage. It's no big deal, I told myself. Keep it together! Don't be such a baby! Don't make a big deal about it and then be all embarassed when your bag arrives good as new.

I tried. I really did. I wanted to be the type of person who doesn't act like a god damned baby when things don't go as planned.

And as the day loomed on and I thought I'd have to find a whole new wardrobe. And a bathing suit.

The bathing suit was the thing throwing me for a major anxiety filled loop.

Maggie suggested I just "grab a crappy bathing suit" so I'd have one.

Isn't that nice? How my friend Maggie lives in a self confident world where one can put on any old bathing suit and face the light of day in it.

I live in a world where I didn't wear a bathing suit for 5 years before I found one I could tolerate.

At around 4 o clock, I was on hold with Delta, trying to make sure my bag had been found and would be delivered before I was forced to purchase a whole new summer wardrobe composed of pieces found in various souvenier shops around Old San Juan.

My frustration was mounting. I had emailed Logan who told me to talk to someone from the airline. And told me not to let this minor thing ruin my trip. My frustration was reaching critical mass, but what kind of baby cries over lost luggage. Get a hold of yourself!

While I was on hold Maggie called the automated line I had called 20 minutes earlier to be told there was no available information about my luggage.

When she called they said they'd found my bag and it was being delivered shortly.

I excused myself, went into the bathroom, called Logan

and had long, sobbing, totally baby-ish cry.

And he's been with me long enough to know that that's what I need. I don't want him to say or do anything but rub my forehead and say poor little bunny.

After my cry, I came out of the bathroom and Maggie had fixed me a drink and found the roof deck at our hotel. We went upstairs and looking out at the ocean and over the city, it felt like I'd hit reset.

Those cries are the equivalent of me writing out things that probably shouldn't be written. If I don't release the pressure valve it stays with me. It stops me up and makes it impossible for me to think about much of anything else.

I'm typing this with my fat fingers on my tiny phone so I'm not sure this is making sense or if my phone's auto spell is inserting nonsense words all over the place.

I guess what I'm saying is I feel a little stopped up right now because I'm trying to not be a baby.

If you need me I'll be over there in the bathroom sobbing until I can hit 'reset'.