I was drained last night. It was a long day at the office. I had a minor work stress, but the main anxiety was a combination of concern for my mother and depression over my social problems. I came home — after a long, long bus ride home — and just collapsed. I cried, I whined, and I let myself feel pathetic for about half an hour. My husband knew exactly what to say. He told me my mom was going to be fine and that he was sorry we fought. He held my hand and said that no matter what, I would always have him. There is no fight we can’t recover from. And he let me cry until I was done.
I then cleaned a pair of wine glasses and sipped some pinot grigio while he grabbed us dinner. We ate it together and watched the first episode of The Amazing Race, one of the few shows we both enjoy. On the surface, there was nothing special about the evening, but I really needed it. I know I cry a lot, too much, whatever, but it’s always cathartic, especially when someone is next to you saying it’s ok.
And really, I feel much better today. Things haven’t changed per se, but I am trudging forward anyway.
We did get a little bit of news regarding my mom. We now know that the aneurysm is in her head instead of her neck, which isn’t so great, but it’s small, so that’s good. She also (FINALLY) has a doctor appointment for tomorrow morning to discuss what he saw on the scans. Unfortunately, this doctor wouldn’t be the one to perform the surgery, but at least it’s some movement. She’s relieved.
Tonight my husband and I are having the much-needed budget talk. I think it will be useful for both of us and ultimately have a positive outcome, but those conversations are never fun.
Tomorrow I have a visit with the lady doctor to poke around at my fickle ovaries. Instead of concentrating on it, I’m looking forward to this weekend’s Miracle Mile Art Walk. It should be a perfect 77° on Saturday, and I can think of nothing more delightful than an afternoon stroll among beautiful art.