Today is February 20th. In case you weren’t in view of a calendar of some sort. You’re welcome.
Not a big day in most circles, it’s someone’s birthday, it’s someone’s anniversary, they day someone gets engaged, laid, etc,etc,etc. You get my point, I hope. Just another day. For me it’s a month before what I call “death day”, the day Gregory actually died. 47 months ago, I pulled the plug on life support for my husband. I mean not literally, I did it with a pen.
This time next month will be 4 years since that moment. FOUR YEARS. I see the words typed out, I say them, the clock ticks, I see the lines on my face deepen, I could go on and on with metaphors, yet I still can’t fathom nor calculate how time works that way.
The first year was bad. The second year was bad, but better. The third year was not so bad. This year is being a cunty bitch. The last two months I’ve been whiney, ill and generally in a pissy mood. I’ve been homesick and just totally uninterested in doing anything that requires a modicum of effort except exercising. It’s like I don’t want to make an effort. I’m not sure if it’s the looming date on the calendar that’s getting to me or karma for making fun of all those people with SAD lamps for years.
I don’t know what it’s going to take to snap me out of it, but I’m hoping that I find it by March 21st.Tweet
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