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  • Tara B. Vasi

Don't call me Punky.

Updated: Oct 3, 2019

I wanted to go to bed at 5:30pm. Theres no one to say I couldnt, except the voice of my mother/grandmothers in my brain saying “its such beautiful sunny day, you should really take advantage of it while you can.”


I am in my stripped nighttime romper, which has morphed into my, “whenever I am at the shore house and not in yoga clothes” romper. Whenever I wear my nighttime romper, I feel like Punky Brewster, yeah, a child, but less annoying adorable.

Would yoga make me feel better? Historically, the answer has always been, YES!


And gaze up.

The day got away from me again. I couldn’t control my emotions, but that's been the theme of 2019, so its not completely out of the blue. Its hard to explain really how it all happened. I had my coffee with fresh vanilla creamer. I went to yoga. Like, wtf, that is my perfect morning.


I chalk it to a good ol fashioned “pre-trip meltdown”. I started crying on the way to my aunts house. While driving over the bridge to the ocean, I felt so alone in the world, I didnt think I could be around anyone. I wanted so badly to go home, but I didnt know where that was exactly.

Once over the bridge I saw the beach. It was calm and peaceful. I wailed harder because it was so beautiful and I wanted so badly to connect with that beauty. I get even more infuriated with myself when I get this way, knowing I have so much to be grateful for, have made so much progress and have sooo many great things coming my way to look forward to.

The feelings are so raw now, each and every one of them felt through my whole heart. I’m still getting used to the emotions and visiting with them, instead of drowning them in tequila shots. Its like I’m a child again, decoding my emotions for the first time. There is a lot of trial and error, though, no one but myself to navigate through it. (Except my sister who always seems to answer the phone when I need her the most and talks me off of my own self imposed ledge. I joke about being her third child, but its not really funny.)

I look at myself in the eyes in my rear view mirror and my eyes are a deep grass green and for a split second, I think I am cool. Why do they always look so pretty when I am crying?


My aunt and I went to the beach and we talked. Just talked. It was standardly salty. The beach, not the conversation. The temperature fluctuated repeatedly and unexpectedly. It was fiercely and violently windy. There were still people there enjoying the beach for what it was, even though it wasn’t a perfect beach day. Oddly it made me feel a little more centered knowing it wasn’t the calm and peaceful beach I thought it was going to be when I crossed over the bridge earlier and decided it was probably a good idea to embraced the days imperfections for what they were. Everything is going to be ok, I knew. It always is


Update: Woke up the following morning covered in uterine lining ruining my Punky Brewster romper, but at least I am not pregnant and my emotional overload makes little more sense.

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