I knew I had a serious problem with the last snow fall. It wasn't the usual snow where I look out and proclaim, "I hate snow!" It wasn't deep. The wind wasn't blowing sub-arctic chill deep into my bones. It was actually a light snow, the kind that makes you think of pretty, glittery snow globes.
I trudged in from walking Chester. Looked at the walks that needed shoveling and thought F### it.
I never think that. I always shovel after walking the dog. Getting the snow off the walks is very important to me. But as I kicked the snow off my shoes and came in the house I didn't care if I ever shoveled another walk. Nope. Did not care at all.
It didn't stop there. Everything in life was wrong. Things I love became a struggle. Walking Chester was a chore to be endured. I contemplated putting pen to paper, but why bother. Taking a shower in the morning was total drudgery. The fetal position seemed imminent
Once I realized that something was wrong I looked back over the last couple weeks to find the trigger and I realized that I had overbooked my social calender. One social event can be enough to set me off, but I had a series of events that required me crawling out of my shell to attend.
After the epiphany my mantra became: "If I can get through Saturday I will be okay."
I repeated it enough and I guess I believed myself.
I woke up this morning and felt better than I had for a while. My brain was full of my story. I was happy to walk the dog. I have yet to shower, but the prospect of taking one isn't weighing me down. There may be hope.