It's Monday, Veteran's Day, and I still feel like I'm operating in a fog. I'm not sure, but it's gradually dawning on me that I'm seriously depressed. I thought I was dealing with my mother's death well, but apparently this gray, cloudy feeling that lingers - ok, consumes me - is not going away.
Nothing interests me. I can't get into reading - even the new Stephen King book can't hold my interest. Sure, I play with my dogs, watch television, go out to eat with my husband, go to see The Long Island Medium with my daughter(that's another story for another day), but there's this THING hanging over me and not going away. I told my husband that I feel like I'm drugged. I speak and trail off in the middle of a sentence, choose the wrong words to describe things, and just want to sleep and sleep and sleep. And the cough still lingers and just won't leave. I want to curl up in a ball.
I'm having trouble writing too. I need to write a minimum of 1500 words a day. I can't get into the story, even though I loved the proposal. I'm only 40 pages in and already had to ask for an extension, as there's no way I could make the January 1 deadline at this pace.
Lonnie's been understanding so far. He lost his mother nearly 20 years ago, but I'm sure he remembers. It's not something you forget.
My dogs understand too. When I'm sad they kiss me and snuggle.
This too shall pass, I'm hopeful. I guess it just has to run its course.