I was supposed to drive into the city tonight for drinks with friends, but I am so worn down, frayed even, by work that I just wanted to hole up and read or watch a movie. I’m not even sure I’m social enough to play The Sims, which should give you some indication of just how hermit-crabby I am.
Last night, Chad invited me over for dinner and a movie. I was surprised and pleased, and accepted, on the condition that I could bring over my bedsheets and blankets because Zen had so thoughtfully puked on them earlier that day. (The entire apartment has hardwood floors, and she pukes on my bed. I just don’t get it.) I arrived and got the laundry going, then helped Chad prepare dinner, which turned out to be a delicious garlic and mushroom chicken dish, with sides of baby carrots, homemade mashed potatoes, and creamed corn, plus biscuits. Everything tasted so good.
I was unsurprised, and less than pleased, that the conversation took its inevitable turn, and one of these days I really want the ability to head my tears off at the pass, because what good are tears anyway? I simply don’t understand why they keep coming. Just when I thought I’ve mourned all I could, there is fresh grief waiting under the surface.
Still, I think we are moving in a positive direction, and I will just have to be patient with each of our sore hearts. This is the most difficult time of my life, and all I want to do is not just suddenly be happy but understand what happiness is for me. I don’t think I know that yet. I am learning.
Work troubles aren’t even worth anguishing over here, so I won’t. I just need a night off from my life.