I am waking up. And as I awaken, I begin to feel and then to trust my feelings. That sounds, at first hearing, like so much psychobabble. But depression and grief deprive me of joy. I literally punish myself with negative feelings until I determine that I have suffered long enough. Crazy? For sure.

Yesterday brought friendship, good food, exercise, Christmas preparation, albeit limited. The grief and loss went on hold, but have not left. I went to bed expecting the dynamo of activity to keep humming Friday.

And yet…. I got tired. And then the fear of backsliding into the pit of sloth, unfulfilled sexual longing, of good humour descending into unending riffs on those hated Christmas tunes, Frosty The Snowman, and Rudolph The Rednosed Reindeer. I perseverate on those ditties, to J’s dismay and, I suspect, chagrin. I see myself sinking into curmudgeonly crankiness

I was set to swim again tonight, but I admitted to being tired. (Oh No, not that!) I slept, because I needed that sleep more than I needed a workout. And now I look forward to tomorrow and swimming. The activity will continue, with an interruption.

The weekend will restore J and me. We will prep the house for a canine visitor. #1 son’s pit bull Lila*, will stay with us while he and Roberta, his wife, go to Philadelphia for Christmas. J and I will do stuff together because she has actual time off from work. I need this time with her. I will let her know.

*Lila is the sweetest dog one could ever hope to meet.