Shit's Loss

A heroin recently convinced a crowded room it's ok to loose your shit. She had me under this spell from the moment our paths crossed. It only took me decades to actually be ok with shit hitting the fan. My shit hitting the fan.

Not because I hated my job, I lost my job, I broke up with my boyfriend, I caught my husband in bed with a man, I heard a voice tell me I had terminal cancer, a voice tell me I had cancer period, I witnessed a horrible accident or a bunny getting hit by a bus, I saw a loved one's face disappear from sights ability...No.

I lost my shit because I let myself feel. Feel all emotion. Breathe in the nausea. Cry Justin a river. Embraced the happy horrific sadness. This a step for us sunshine chasing, pro happy choice card carrying smilers.

Sympathetic voices express the need for running company. Miss Independent's soles are happiest away from the chaos.  They promise sweaty returns even the hottest shower can't erase. When the feeling of the shit hitting the fan overcomes, happy thoughts can still remain.
 
So, lose your shit.  What's the point of any of it if you can't let vulnerability take over.

The shit's weighing you done anyway.