These last few days have been really hard, depression wise. Of course nothing at all is going on to justify it, my brain just decided now – visiting family in MN and trying to celebrate my birthday was the optimal time to turn on the waterworks.
My poor Dr Lady tried to give me a good birthday, and it was good, mostly. We went to the MN State Fair, saw goats and horses and cows and pigs and goats and sheep and goats, ate inappropriate, fried things, and watched sheep herding. Then we came home and ate gf brownies in the basement stairwell and read about france.
But I couldn’t read any of the messages wishing me a happy birthday from my friends or on Facebook and this is the first year I didn’t talk to my family and honestly, I’m really glad our hostess was frazzled with lack of sleep and a fever, because I just couldn’t handle anything.
I’m better today, but it’s still fragile. I think some of this is from trying to accept our childfree immediate future and thinking about what that means. I’ve always struggled with what else I would do aside from writing with my time, because I just can’t write full time. But for the last two years, it got easier, because obviously I would be the at home parent, and that would be my second job. But losing that, accepting that that won’t be the case, has meant returning to that question. And I… I just don’t know.
In 17 days, we’ll at least know what’s going on with France. I sincerely hope that knowing where/when we’ll be moving will make things easier, clearer. I’m so, so tired of living in this murk of not knowing.
I hope it’s not too late to ask, but all I want for my birthday is peace.