It’s been a brutal few months. Absolutely brutal. So brutal that right now, the fact that I have a left hand throbbing in pain and swollen to double its size with an infection feels as though life finally cut me a break—because I was sure it was broken instead.
Things are not going well. And this week, though it’s had its highlights with the Thanksgiving holiday and lots of time spent with the kids, has been particularly brutal. Nearly everything that could go wrong…did go wrong.
Happily, at least the car is still running and everyone is still alive and kicking. Those two things are, at least, something. And we did manage to visit the ballet and talk to Santa. That’s good, too.
But I am desperately clinging to the status quo now, swollen hand and all. I need for there to be a moratorium on shit events and bad luck happenings for a day or three. Please. I am hoping that 2018 is going to be better. I have no faith that it will be; that would be completely unjustified. I expect things to be, in fact, far, far worse.
But I do have hope. And I am trying to combat fear and the deep navy blues with everything I have.