Showing Up

It's hard to show up sometimes, to find the will to make the right faces and say the fitting words. To have things appear in freefall, without the overly considered actions of one feeling out of sorts. 'Showing up' when you do not want to is a tough one and having to show up over and over and over again under duress is simply painful. So raw, you'd rather square up and fight in the ring, anticipating teeth smashing into the soft, wet flesh of your plummy mouth, the taste of blood in the back of your throat. I'd take that option, rather than the bitter taste left by the acceptance of adulting - you know, doing what you ought to do instead of what you desire. 

Of course, sometimes, showing up is the bravest stance of all. Sometimes no one knows the measure of spinach it's taken to build the strength to Popeye into action, ready to toss Pluto aside. Sometimes, Pluto doesn't even show up and you're almost disappointed because you've waited for this time. At times you show up, do the work and the execution is perfection and it is only when home, alone and in a safe place that the disappointment slips from you like a petticoat as you shed your layers at the end of a day. You do your best to leave the knockbacks, the hard stares, the unkind words, the judgements, all of the debris and detritus, all on the floor. But sometimes it climbs, like those little pesky ants that move quickly and in huge numbers that leave the sharpest stings. 

Sometimes, all you can do is show up and not think about the rest. Sometimes just arriving at the right place is good enough, it's a bonus if you reach the door and step inside the venue and well, if you stay for a drink and mingle and schmooze, then it's a good day. On those days, you know you're going to kick your petticoat up from your toes and reach out and catch it and toss it into the laundry basket. And yes! It's a goal! You showed up.