It's beautiful outside. Gorgeous. Sunny, warm (finally...I am so tired of the cold - it's been something else up here recently).
And I'm holed up in the house.
Not crying, not totally depressed, but I did sleep the morning away (it's gone!) and other than perhaps groceries, I have no desire to do anything or go anywhere. I know I'll force myself later tonight, but right here, right now, I don't want to leave the sunny living room and my puppers. Ok, I'd like to go skating, but that sweet fractured tailbone keeps me from doing that. How much would falling on that hurt huh?
Some say, I sound depressed and I sound like a hermit. I admit they could be right.
Sigh. Why does it seem that it's so very difficult to be me on occasion?
Don't get me wrong I know there are those that are in much worse positions than I am and that there are a million things worse than those that have happened to me recently, I know this, I really do. Just sometimes it seems that it all happens at once, god forbid that I should experience a period of normalcy.
Then again, what IS normal?
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