It's mid-week, we have now had our Xmas party at work, and Christmas lies within sight, full-steam ahead.
As I've noted on virtually EVERY blog entry from September on, work is never-ending, and it will continue to be (I can tell...) until I finish work for my time off December 23rd.
I'm still tired all the time.
I've been really weepy this week, listening to Christmas songs last night with Mike, their new flavour, the flavour of dread, filled me with melancholy.
I still have the feeling of observing life, rather than really being 'in it', the type of feeling you get in dreams sometimes. It's you, but it's not really you. It's the other person, but it's not really them either.
Reading, reflecting, poring over Joan Didion's Blue Nights. I was reading it last night in bed, after having a frustrating discussion with Mike over how stressed I feel sometimes, trying to 'take care' of my mother, and not being ready for that, and not wanting to do it sometimes, and how unprepared I was, at this stage, to even BE here--thirty-eight, with one parent alive, on their own, after a forty-year run, with no idea whatsoever about what re-building is going to take.
Even this post is frustrating me, I've been working on it for two days and it's going nowhere.
Are lists all I have left?