I was in the shower, and I was daydreaming about just going to sleep.
For the rest of the day.
At only 10am.
That’s how I know when I’m sliding. When I start fantasizing about not being conscious. When I see that as a viable and desired alternative to walking around and everyday life.
I shut the water off, stepped out and dried off. I got dressed, and only had to shoo small children out of the bathroom once. I got down the lock box, I took my medication (the one I hate to take, but need to cope some days), and I took a deep breath.
I took the day off.
I didn’t clean (well, beyond the doing the dishes. No dishwasher=a must-do chore). I didn’t do schoolwork. I didn’t study, though I knew I should.
I read a book. I colored pictures. I made dinner with the help of small hands. I doled out kisses and hugs, cough medicine, and only one ice pack. I tucked short people into comfy beds with clean sheets. I told the requisite bedtime stories and kissed and hugged again.
Then I went downstairs and spilled my fears and worries and such to the only male I’ve met who understands me almost fully. And he didn’t solve my problems. He didn’t tell me how to fix what’s clearly broken, or chide me for worrying about stuff I clearly can’t do anything about.
He just listened.
It was a wonderful day.
Slightly Similar Nonsense:
- Times are Tough All Over
- Letters from my Desk
- Dancing Around Dementia
- Clearly it’s not so clear.
- Introductions are in order