WRITE I DID

Many hours pass and I am fine. And then I get a kick of despair and despondency that sends me to the bed (not a neutral place) to kind of roll up in the fetal position with Cooder. Or not. She gets tired of the same area to sleep in. I watch her carefully to see what and if she is eating. What is her mood. What does she think. Am I going to lose her too? Right now? Is she dehydrated? Eating enough?

I have flashes of calm and the bigger picture, Zen, if you will, but they are flashed not even moments. I am as stunned by my state of mind as anything. Really? Does it hurt this much? What else can it be? Both Beth and my mom, in different ways, suggest that it is the accumulation of loss that makes this one so bad.

Most of the time, I think I miss my kitty.

And then, if I want to hurt myself, I can spin along into what is wrong with me, my life, what mistakes I made, and a lot of generally bad judgments about myself. I try to let that go and do my 4-4-4- breathing.

I was functional today, if not as productive as I want to be. And inasmuch as I didn't want to write, I did.