When I wake up in the morning I have a lump in my throat. A lump that makes it seem I’m trying to swallow something small and hard over.and.over.and.over. By noon my heart feels heavy. Like a slightly larger version of the stone lodged in my throat. By the time I leave the office some
When I get home, if I don’t have some really pressing to do’s to keep me occupied, I head straight for a glass of wine. More nights than not, I seem to have polished of an entire bottle before bed.
(Vis a vis of nothing there was an article in the paper this morning about a book featuring six steps to living like a cave man to rid oneself of depression. Nothing new or earth shattering about the list, and shit I already do every damn day, so please don’t send any “healthy living” tips my way kay?)
While I’m not full on panic attacky, I’m not having much fun. And feeling this way is ever so slowly starting to suck the joy out of my life. And people? It is summer damn it! I got through winter pretty much unscathed so this is odd for me.
All this is to say that while I have many thoughts swirling though my head and many stories I’d like to capture here I think my ability to do so has hidden away in my joy’s suitcase and skipped town.