The other day I had a full blown meltdown, complete with an ugly, chest-heaving cry, the kind that leaves you with a splitting headache. This was due to home buying stress, mostly, and a lack of sleep, and a feeling of isolation. Sometimes the emotional plumbing gets backed up and requires a good plunge, you know? (Not to worry. I’m fine now.)
My poor dog Quagmire always gets very upset on the rare occasion that he sees me in this state. He starts crying himself, and throws himself into my arms, and licks away my tears. He’s a good boy.
Even while being tended to by Quagmire, I was still attempting to tackle paperwork for the house, such is the overwhelming length of my to-do list, so, still wailing, I grabbed my scanner out of the closet. I wiped the dust off the box and took it out… and found a note from Chuck, my late boyfriend.
He used to call me his bunny. The note said, “I love my bunny!” and then there was a big scribbled blob, with an arrow pointing to it, and then it said, “Really bad drawing of a bunny. Sorry. I crossed it out.” And then there was a heart drawn below that.
If only he knew just how badly I needed to see that exact note at that exact moment. Maybe he does. I hope so.
Oh, I still cried. But at least I felt like somebody, in some realm or other, gave a shit. And that’s all I needed. I went to sleep, with Quagmire in my arms, for 12 hours. And woke up feeling emotionally black and blue, but ready to once again start tackling the overwhelming pile of stuff that lies ahead of me this month.
What are the odds that I’d come across that note at that specific point in time? Thanks, baby. I love you, too.