How was your weekend?

Aside from the usual Monday anxiety, today I have an extra problem. On my train ride in this morning I suddenly felt a fear of the above question. "how was your weekend?" they all ask. The fact it is, it was shit. I'm sleep deprived and emotionally drained, tired of it all.

For the first time ever (in my 10 years of knowing my bestie A), Saturday was the first time she had seen me cry. Of course, we were at the wedding of my good friend, and tears of happiness as her husband nervously recited his vows did flow, but those are not the tears I'm referring to. Those tears of happiness is not something I'm ashamed about. In fact, my tears of frustration/anger/helplessness/sadness(?) are also not something I'm ashamed of. Perhaps I am a little - just because I couldn’t 'hold it in'. It was so uncharacteristic of me. But perhaps the cumulation of what had happened on thrusday nite and to be subjected to similar again was too much. Still, I wish I was able to be responsible and logical, to let it slide off like water on a duck's proverbial back. But perhaps that was the thing - that I was sick and tired of being responsible and logical, this overwhelming sense of "why me?" - why is it ok for me to be treated in that way. Well its not.

Unlike most others, I do not have a home sanctuary to return to. My being at home simply opens another emotionally distressing can of worms.

I wish I could answer cheerfully that my weekend was good. I wish I can write a happy blog. But I simply cannot.