Today, or rather yesterday, I got through another day. I did good things -- a bit of cleaning, another lecture, some reading, some walking of the dog, picked up my healed camera, and picked up the milk that we did not have. We went to church and the evening service on Saturdays is a good solution to a lonely Saturday. We came home to dinner, a bit of reading, and another dinosaur movie. And Julia went to bed and sleep without any fuss. And I got through this day. How many will I have to get through? I feel a bit haunted by the woman who told me it took her two years to be herself and happy again after her husband died. How many days is that? Days of trudging along, getting through, watching the clock just so that at the end I can check it off and hope that I am closer to . . . something that I don't even know right now.
I'm doing things, good things, worth while things, but everything I do is encumbered. There is no lightness in my movement, no joy. I can feel like a terrible drag when I talk to people. I am nothing but sad.
I am feeling a bit sorry for myself right now. This path is trying on the soul. I have the optimism of being sure I will get through it, but I wonder if I will ever really be happy again. I may, but I may not. And I am lonely for companionship that may just be over for good and all.
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