And Shut the Door Behind You

7:09 a.m.

I've been finding it impossible to post, lately. I'm always tempted to sit down and write a long emotional post about how up and down I've been the last few weeks, mostly down, and how it's been so hard to get out of bed and go to work, and how I feel annoyingly cry-ey, and how I just want to sleep, a lot, and how numb I've felt when I'm not feeling sad, and how this tension headache just will not end, no matter how much medicine I take. I want to write about how hard it has been to pretend that I feel happy, when I don't.

But then I think, why? Why should I do that? Why whine?

So then I think I should write a post about how it snowed last weekend because summer died and fall is brief here, or a retrospective on the greatness of my old car after we sold it, or tell a silly story about my flight to Missouri, or post those pictures I took of Monk in his new chicken costume, or maybe tell you about the ridiculous sweat suits the members of my new gym wear, and how they are all retired and very nice and everyone uses the sweat towels properly.

Then I'd feel like I didn't have the energy. That it was fake. So I wouldn't.

But yesterday morning, I woke up early. The gym was good and I didn't feel too exhausted to finish, and then I got ready for work without staring into the closet with tears in my eyes, and brushing my hair didn't feel like a completely overwhelming task. I straightened up the house and had the energy to make myself some tea to take to work. And on the drive, I noticed colors looked brighter, and I felt as if I was seeing the falling yellow leaves for the first time. I felt good for about a five hour stretch, and I realized I'll get through this one.

This one, surely, is on its way out.

Love,
black sheep