A long Sunday awaits. The Sunday blues have taken on an entirely new shade of blue (deeper, darker) since Sunday has become the day I return my kids to their father. No longer a hazy, ill-defined sense of sadness. Sundays are sadness incarnate. I'm fraught contemplating the 12 hour stretch ahead with no human interaction. And knowing that I won't see my kids until 3:30 on Wednesday afternoon when they are finished school for the day. I will try to put some of my new year's resolutions to work today. Make use of my time alone to enjoy the things I like to do (what are those again?) Write down the things that bother me, make me panic so I can put them out there, with the vague and hopeful notion that if they are "out there, on paper" they won't rot in my gut. Like: the agitated frenzy that sets in about 10 hours in, that my kids won't want to come back to me on Wednesday. There I wrote it down. Is it mitigated? We'll see.
I will exercise. Cry less. Not not at all. Just less.
Ok. Here we go.