I call this time… ‘The Funk’, and nothing just like she says, can stop it.
It’s that time of year again that I cannot be held accountable for what I say or do. I keep my contacts with the outside world short and sweet. I refrain from all sad stories and troubles that are out of my control. I put my blinders on and focus on the day to day- get out of bed, eat, breathe, bathe.
This time of year- Thanksgiving through my lost daughter’s birthday in February- leaves me lost at sea in emotional wreckage. Like clockwork, I know its first claims on my generally sanguine disposition; that heavy dull ache in my chest settles in just days before the holiday season begins. My sharply-crafted strength of sarcasm loses all its defenses. That heavy dull ache is here to stay for a third of the year, then a brief respite, back to preparing myself for it the following year. We have become so familiar with one another, that I have even given…
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