Last night it came to me: we’re never really going to Seattle. I’m just dreaming. The realization that I’d likely see Son and Grandson rarely or perhaps not at all, because let’s face it none of us are going to be rich enough to afford long trips like that.
I took it hard. It knocked all the wind out of my sails. I’ve been depressed all day. I really don’t feel much like doing this. I’m in the living room now, Son keeps reading interesting things to me, or going on and on about something in the news, god I don’t even know why he watches the news when he gets all twisted up about it. (Why do the feel the need to repeat themselves, three maybe four times. I can’t stand it.) Son is now talking endlessly about antibiotics–our dog was chewing the hair off his back end, and is on anti-biotics. How do I get him to realize he’s becoming a grumpy bore. You’re releasing all your frustration on me when you go on about some injustice. I agree with him 90% of the time, but he doesn’t know it, because he never lets me talk.
Husband in the bedroom watching the news. Content and mostly happy.
I feel so defeated, giving up. It’s the damn depression, creeping back in. I promise I will fight it this time, but the realization that it’s my family that makes me miserable! I have come to hate this house and being bound to something so hard to hold onto during difficult times. It feels like a curse: No Success for the __________’s, written right there in the rule book of life.
I will endeavor to feel better tomorrow, but tonight I think I’ll give in and cry.