(I'm writing this at 9:33 a.m. while I sit at my desk at work...here's me looking longingly outside.)
I dread going to work. No, seriously, I do. I can't begin to describe the sick feeling I get every night as I get my clothes ready for the next day, and I set my alarm for the butt crack of dawn. Sunday nights are the worst. At that point I've been home all weekend with Pete and the furry children, doing fun stuff, or even just house cleaning, but I'm not HERE. The sense of panic and despair begins to set in around 4:00. I start to have a vague sense of apprehension and my mood begins to shift to the darker end of the spectrum. At first, I'm always mystified as to why. But as the hours roll by, I begin to realize why, which sets off a cycle of anxiety and irritation that never fully stops once I'm asleep. Of course, the next morning is a continuation of this depression, and right off the bat I've already ruined another glorious start to the day by feeling scared, uneasy, and gloomy. Sometimes the fog never quite lifts, and I don't fully escape my doldrums, even after I've left work for the day. Other days I'm more able to shake off the negativity, and I think of all the wonderful things in my life that are going on. Fridays tend to be the best day for obvious reasons, but I'm also usually humming with creative energy on that day, and my mind is a blur of possibility.
Well, if there's one thing I can take comfort in, it's that the day always ends. I get to go home with my wonderful husband, see all of our animals, and be happy again, if for a little while, at least.