Big Girls Don't Cry (at least not in public)

It's official. STP left without me. There was no way my knee could even make it to Seward Park, much less Centralia, much less Portland. At least that made it an easy decision. But sad.

My big plan to reclaim the weekend was to hang out with my aunt, make gnocci (hopefully, a more accomplishable item on my list) and take a sewing class I had my eye on. Unfortunately, the class turned out to be last month (oops), but time with my aunt in the sun was perfect and I'm planning on having a go at the gnocci.

Since the signs were pointing towards my not being able to do the ride for quite a while, I was able to ease into the reality and the disappointment. But it came flooding back when I went to the "Send Off" party the other night. I felt really left out as we heard all of the last minute logistics. It didn't help that the program coordinator pointed out someone else who was injured and couldn't ride, but didn't mention me.

So one of my worst fears snuck up on me. Suddenly I'm crying in front of relative strangers. And to make matters worse, they didn't seem to know what to do with me. So I put my sunglasses on and slid out. It was an important cathartic release. But uncomfortable. Only slightly less embarrassing than several years ago when my favorite dog was dying and an instructor lightly criticized my "creative" knitting technique - when suddenly I'm bawling in the middle of knitting class. They didn't know what to do with me there either. I didn't even know what to do with myself that time, so it was a mess.

They're just tears. You've seen them before. And will undoubtedly see them again. Why does it make us so uncomfortable? Though, I can't really blame them; I'm often the same way.

Just give the girl a hug, people.