Waves

It's not news to anyone that emotions are like ocean waves. They roll in and then they wash back out again. They pass. It's up for debate, however, as to why the hard ones tend to take so much longer than the sweet ones to wash back out again. 

A couple of days ago this wave of desolation came in. There was something more alarming about it than the usual negative waves. I couldn't attribute it to anything in particular. It was enough to drive me out of my house and into the world. 

I found a familiar bartender I knew some years ago. He's grown more silver, softer looking, just like I have. We told some stories and made a few quips back and forth. I inserted myself into the banter between him and some of the younger wait staff. They made ageist jokes. The "old" bartender is seven years my junior. I didn't know it, but the jokes were stinging him. For me, it felt like just another fragment of the whole unbearable thing that will break your heart and reduce you to tears unless you can distract yourself from realizing it in some way, shape, or form. Like stage laughter. 

You think too much, they've always said. And you don't think enough, I'd retort.