Push

I don’t want to go to work. I wish I could stay home.

Operation “Having a Happy Holiday Season” is going pretty well. I have been out holiday shopping, which is something I really haven’t done in a while. Giving makes me feel better.

Last night I went out with two of my closest friends for our annual holiday outing. I had fun, but I still felt detached, almost not even present. The part of me that was present felt bland, fogged over, and I had to remind myself, even as I sat laughing with my friends, that I was out having fun. The threat of returning home to my Chris-less apartment and to my life as the single person I should not be, always looms.

Carol talked about funny things Josh said. Robby talked about funny things Gene said. I talked about funny things Chris said, aware that their partners are alive and well and mine is no longer with me. All of the funny things Chris said ended two years ago. His humor stopped at age 34, but Robby, Carol, Josh, Gene and my humor continues to mature. Chris is now five years younger than me and over time, the gap in our ages will increase. We should have been three and a half years apart forever.

I didn’t want to wake up this morning, despite my new prescription for Zoloft. I suppose PMS has a way with squelching whatever benefits an antidepressant can offer me.

A pattern I have become aware of is that on weekdays, when I have to be at work, all I want to do is stay home and get stuff done, but on weekends, when I typically have nothing scheduled, I can’t seem to get moving. That sounds like depression to me.

Still, I managed to go out and be at least partially present for a holiday outing last night. I will visit my in-laws on Saturday, I’m having my mother and siblings over on Sunday and I will be at my father’s house on Monday, Christmas day, the day I rushed Chris to the hospital 2 years ago. Maybe I will be too busy to think about any of the difficult stuff.