An explanation

Oh, guys, I have sat at this computer so many times in the past month (plus) – and I have written so many posts. But unlike my normal writings, I didn’t show them to my husband, and I didn’t post them. Rather, I left them open and unsaved in Word documents, so that I could sleep (or not) and wake up and read them again to see if there was anything worth saying.

Last year, one of my best friends from high school lost her two-year-old nephew in a drowning accident. My elderly neighbor, who I’d known for almost 30 years, died in his home. We buried my mother’s youngest brother, who was far too young and carried happiness with him wherever he went. Of course, being a parent with elementary-school children, the Sandy Hook tragedy rocked me in a way news seldom does. Very recently, there was a horrific and sudden loss that brought my entire neighborhood to its knees, children and all. It all just snowballed into a really, really sad event last week.

And there’s nothing to say about sadness. Everything I wrote just made me sadder. Then I couldn’t turn around and write something normal because I was too sad.

Life, in general, has been sort of tough lately, for so many reasons. And the other day, I offhandedly remarked to Whit that it was good I "don’t have the gene for depression."

Then I started to worry that I was, in fact, depressed, and that maybe I had been depressed my entire life and what I thought was normal was actually depression.

Then I remembered that I really, really want to get a job, because then I won’t get depressed when my children don’t need me anymore.

Then I remembered that no one is going to pay me to sit in my office and write, and occasionally go into an office to meet adults and go to happy hour, and so that’s a little depressing.

Then I remembered I don’t actually get depressed.

Then I remarked that my figure looks like the "after" picture in a Jenny Craig ad. You know, the ones where you say, "Eh, better than before, but she could still use a little work."

Then my husband looked at me and said, "Your brain is a scary place to visit."

So there we go. Tomorrow I'll tell tell you how I was stalked at a CAbi show and my little blog will be back to normal; probably still weird, but without a hint of depression. Today, I am going to harness the power of the Internet for a million wishes that sad events can stop happening. For a little bit. Just so we can catch our breath.