It’s June 13th. I’m — I was going to say overwhelmed, but that’s not quite right. I am overwhelmed. But there’s more to it.
Whatever. It’s June 13th. I went to work, which was a really bad idea. Now I’m home. I’m in bed, holding a purring Huggy Kitty to my chest, and wearing my most comfortable pjs. Torii just climbed up onto my hip and made herself quite at home.
I told myself I would use this 8/9 of a sick day to at put together the new closet organizer. And I will. Later.
But for now it’s Torii and Huggy Kitty and me in a cool, dark room. Hopefully we’ll sleep.
June 13th is mostly symbolic now. The pain of loss has faded with time. But June 13th was never really about that. It was the far greater all-encompassing pain behind the pain. The weeks before and years after that I fought the worst anxiety and depression of my adult life. The fight I nearly lost.
It’s been an exhausting week after several very stressful weeks. And I walked into chaos at work. A minor, petty chaos full of unimportant irritations. And a lot of infringement on my personal space. And this June 13th I just couldn’t take it.
I can’t keep my eyes open as I type this. Which is good. I think it best if I just sleep through this.
p,s. The two near-collisions on the way to work were not petty dumb shit. They were very nearly fatalities caused by drivers of oversized lumbering vehicles believing that a) they can take as much of and any part of the road they choose, and b) they don’t need to watch for other, smaller vehicles. And I really want to stay angry about the near-misses so I don’t wonder if maybe I didn’t really try to move out of the way (not that there was anywhere to go) as the second too-large pickup driver crossed the center line and almost drove directly into me. The driver did notice she was driving north almost entirely in the south-bound lane and yanked herself back onto the correct side of the two-lane no-shoulder bordered by deep culverts on both sides country highway.
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