The perks of the wallow...

Getting out of bed. Getting in a hot bath. Getting back in bed.
This is my routine about three days a week.  An outsider looking in may see total laziness, or maybe total sadness...they would also see old mascara holding my eyes closed and a dusty nightstand littered with near empty chapsticks. 
The reality is...I'm quite happy to wallow. It's my time alone to be comfortable and shut out the world. Which can be quite loud and angry the other four days of the week.  There are days that I can't ball myself small enough under the covers and some tears may soak the pillow case that I'm not even sure is close to clean. 
But out of that, I laugh at myself - I can be quite funny sometimes. 
I even relish in the fact that no one cares where I am or what I'm doing during that time. I'm not needed.
And not being needed is as just as much of a fucking rush as being needed is.  And I will get on my soap box here and tell the world (all zero of you reading this) that it's okay to be on an island of you for a few hours. The world can wait because you will be there when it's time. The world belongs to you...and day naps are better than the sex I'm not having.

The walk into battle...

Nothing can beat the feeling of walking arm and arm with your fellow soldiers, sounds of the battle drum perpetuating the rhythm of your heart. Adrenaline flows through your every vein as you march in time to enemy lines.  ~I'm totally speaking metaphorically here. Ain't no fucking way I'm going into a real battle, I've got alabaster skin.~ But...then you get to those enemy lines, your own heartbeat drowns out the sound of the drum and you look to either side and realize you are totally and utterly alone- you laugh to yourself and say 'well shit, this is not how I saw this playing out.'
And you wince in self-deprivation as you take each bullet. And you find a sense of peace as the metal pierces your skin.  
I'm pretty sure that taking an actual bullet packs more of a sting, but you see where I'm going with this.
Do we give up when standing alone or do we keep fighting? Is the line drawn at the enemies feet?
I find myself playing out this scenario and answering these questions on a daily basis. The details vary, but the message is always the same - 'You FIGHT!' There is no peace in piercing metal. I can't even handle period cramps. Self-deprivation is a bigger killer than SARS. And if you stand your ground as if you're 10,000 men (or women, no discrimination here) you will win. 
Victory. 
And then you'll find your peace. Which I imagine is a lot like Tom Hanks at the end of 'Castaway.' At a crossroads with a full tank of gas and a future you can make your own. And you can't go fucking wrong with Tom Hanks.