And so, an hour later, she is tucked up in her own bed, peacefully sleeping. My bed is stripped and tomorrow I will have to wash not only sheets and mattress cover but the quilt and duvet cover that was soaked.
" . . . The question of self-pity." ~Joan Didion.
I am right there. Back against the wall.
What is this? Is there a why? Does it matter? Will anything ever resolve? I lay in Julia's single bed with her and conjure up all sorts of scary plot lines for the future.
I've written it before. I have no resilience.
And I cannot sleep now. It is too late. We have therapy at 8. I have a headache. And I cannot sleep in my bed. I laid with Julia for awhile and then gave up, got up, put on sweats, took some tylenol, planted myself in my favorite chair, and I am now hoping for the best. Sleep after this writing and a bit of reading, and praying fervently that this is a passing phase.