I don't know where to start, honestly.

I found Eleanor sleeping in our bed again, just now. She was also last night. I often find Eleanor or Molly in our bed when I turn in but, to be honest, I don't mind. There's something really touching about finding your kid curled up (or sprawled out) in your spot on the bed. I don't know what it is. And I've grown to appreciate the ritual of ( Read more... )

Gosh, I've just spent the last ten minutes scrolling through old journal entries. I think 98% of my journal is sadness, anger, depression, anxiety, complaining, discontentment, etc. When did I become such a miserable, old, codger? When I die, if people read my journal, they are likely to believe there was never a happy, magical moment in my life ( Read more... )

Such deep heartache in the house. I keep pretending he is here, his large black form curled up next to me on the couch. I hear myself say, "hey buddy." as I gently rub the empty cushion that still smells like him. He was my bud. And I miss him ( Read more... )

[from yesterday ( Read more... )

To the ant on the counter ( Read more... )

Molly is a... difficult child. A very difficult child.

If I don't do something about my health; my stress, my abuse of food, my abuse of alcohol, it's going to kill me. This I know.

But how when the task seems impossible as I believe the abuses all stem from a central fault in my mechanics; the inability to process my stress, depression, anger, and anxiety in a healthy way?

I'm pretty sure I will regret selling our Durham house for the rest of my life as none will ever compare. But we have to. It has to go on the market. That chapter of our life, however short, has ended and we need to look ahead. Le sigh.

AAAAAAAARGH ( Read more... )