Ceramic

I think I have fallen into a feeling of being made of ceramic. Okay on the outside, even sturdy, able to pile stuff up on it, but maybe also cracked and certainly breakable, yet around for ages.

I am doing stuff day to day - work and such -but still have no desire to really clean the house or go beyond the needed basics of laundry and dishes. I want to spend time with the dogs and let them know I am there. I spend some time online and also some time reading. I sit in the backyard, gazing at basically nothing and thinking I should paint the fence.

The depression has passed from bad to not so bad sometimes. Mostly I am okay. I can understand why mourning women don't socialize. Just no desire to do those things, but for for me, doing them to gets me out of the house. And in doing so, going to the cookouts, the parties and getting together with friends, it to make me feel better to a certain degree. To feel not abandoned, not lonely, but still in touch. I have tried to do that all summer. For the last three months I have tried to laugh, to enjoy a moment and find that it always comes around to remembering. I enjoy the time with my friends, but there is always a part of me missing. Even in the before days, if I went to a party alone, at least I knew I could go home and tell Jim about the day. We could laugh about things that happened and it would be alright.