eating my cupcakes...

The only information you need to know about my situation is this: the boy is in a hard place and it's a place I can't follow him to. He needs to be in his cave and figure things out.

And it's really hard, because all of a sudden, I realize I need him. Not in a bad way, but I finally get those songs that say "I need you." The boy has become a part of me in a way that has nothing to do with kisses or chocolate (though I will take both, thank you.)

Last night, after reading a particularly hard email, and writing a response, my stomach clenched up. It was the way my body was freaking out. So I sent out my mayday call on Twitter: "Send cupcakes." (I also called my therapist, because sometimes you need someone who will talk and listen as only a mental health professional can.) Kleenex' stock might have gone up last night for all the tears and snot I was manufacturing.

And the thing that I love is that people know to send me cupcakes and how to imagine sending them because I taught them by example, giving them cupcakes in imaginative ways when they were having crappy days. It is amazing to see something you created blossom, and then feed you when you need to be fed.

Types of cupcake tweets that I send to people:

"Sending cupcakes"
"Sending talented cupcakes. They sing 'soft kitty'"
"Sending talented cupcakes. They sing 'I'm really Rosie, and I'm Rosie Real.'"

Types of cupcake tweets that I send when I need hugs or prayers or just someone to notice me because I'm afraid I'm fading away into nothingness:
"Send cupcakes."

And they did. On trucks, baked from their ovens, through my skylight, with the colors of the University of Michigan (blue and yellow), *ALL OF THE CUPCAKES", filled with chocolate singing cupcakes with magic, airmailed cupcakes, cupcakes soaked in hard liquor and cuss words, cupcakes and hot cocoa, cupcakes and a happy foot tapping soundtrack (which made me find the Youtube video of the original "Footloose" with Kenny Loggins singing and Kevin Bacon dancing) 

I only follow about 100 people on Twitter, because as an introvert who wants to nurture all my tweeps, I can't keep up with more than that. But I have around 600 followers, and so people that I sort of know came out of the woodwork last night. EVERYONE and their uncle was sending me cupcakes.

And it occurred to me at one point that I had never talked about eating my cupcakes.

Funny, I've never really talked about eating a cupcake. And tonight I have so many to choose from. Thank you, all.
— suziwalks (@suziwalks) April 24, 2012

And isn't that the point of the cupcake? To eat it? They aren't so many stickers to collect in an album (gosh, do you remember collecting stickers??) So last night, as I sat finishing watching "A Few Good Men" on THIS, I ate my pita broiled with olive oil and covered with salsa and pretended they were all the imaginary cupcakes.

The irony in all of this? I have not baked a cupcake in my oven (IRL, in real life) in months, if not YEARS. And the last cupcake I ate (in early March, in NYC) was possibly the first cupcake I'd eaten in months, if not years. But I'm moving towards more actual cupcakes. I am underwriting cupcakes for the upcoming UnCo12. I won't be attending, but there will be cupcakes.

I wish I could come up with a really good way to end this blog post, like, "If Marie Antoinette said 'let them eat cupcakes' perhaps the siege of Paris would have never happened" but I fear I am mixing up my periods of history, and I don't really believe MA even said "let them eat cake" anyways.

So here. Have a cupcake. Have two. They're really good.