Things About Things

It's not that I am depressed. Really. Fall is my favorite season. The colors and smells and sensations of chilly mornings and warm afternoons are some of the best reason to live in a place with 4 seasons. And Everything is going Really Well. Our house is beautiful. The kids are doing good - minus a little behavior hiccup here and there with a renegade 16 year old. Things are fine, as far as I can tell. But I haven't been able to pick my heart up off of the floor and find Joy. Shame on me, for all of the wonderfulness that is caramel apples and pumpkin carving and costumes and copious amounts of unecessary chocolates should be more than enough to make me giddy in the gradual build up to The Holidays, and all of my favorite everything throughout the next two months. But I am not giddy. I am exhausted. I sleep far more than any human should need to. My pain is really pretty bearable this week. I am not stressed out or overwhelmed by anything. Maybe I am underwhelmed. I feel disappointed in myself. In people, generally. In our potential and our lack of clarity to fulfill it. I feel let down by my own thoughtless choices that hurt people I care about, unintentionally, or sometimes, intentionally. I am annoyed with the easy offensibility of other people. By the energy that people can dedicate to being upset about things. I am irritated with grudges and judgements and cliques and gossip and making things into issues that really don't need to be. But then there I go, judging what is or is not important, according to the gospel of Liv. Not weighing the depth of injury to someone else as the potential for dysfunction. I am hurt by other people being hurt. We are all so silly, human beings.

We found out yesterday that Josh leaves for boot camp on Monday. 8 weeks of no Josh. He would probably have you believe that I am excited to have the bed all to myself and will only miss having someone to nag all of the time, but with MacKenzie around, I should be fine. I know that the empty space that he will leave for two months is going to be oppressive. His highly opinionated and rarely silent voice will be missed, as well as his staunch and sometimes arbitrary harping on futile rules about food in the living room and turning off lights. It will be a long two months, even though they are usually my favorite two months. As much as I like to complain about him, I know that I will miss my best friend desperately.  I've already started a filing system in my head for how I will store all of the information that I won't be able to tell him as it happens. A "while you were out" scrapbook of sorts. I'm going to try to look at it like a prolonged fire season, where the benefits outweigh the taxing distance. I can't afford to think about where he'll be or how he'll survive. I won't know, and the worrying will make me crazy. And angry. And it won't make him call me any sooner. I am putting a lot of mental preparation into this, you guys. I'm getting there. But not really.

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