Monday, June 16, 2014

Quiet Desperation

Dear John,
I had a good day at work in spite of being an emotional train wreck. Remember that I'd occasionally have times that I'd describe as "not being able to take any more of something or other"? That's the way I've felt today - like I'm at my breaking point and can't take any more. But this time I know what it is that I can't take any more of. It's life without you.
Your mother's death seems to have churned up all kinds of emotions in me. And maybe getting away from my life for a few days made it seem so much worse when I came back. Part of all this is that I'm just so, so tired. There are probably other contributing factors, but those are the ones that I'm aware of.
So today I've had Thoreau echoing in my head, talking about people living lives of quiet desperation. But I won't die with my song unsung because I sung it with you. It isn't unsung; it was cut short too soon. And now I'm quietly desperate and completely miserable.
I'll feel better in a few days. Today all I want to do is curl up in a fetal position and cry; I don't even feel up to comfort food. But I have a job and grown-up responsibilities, so I will do no such thing. I'll function and smile and keep on keeping on. And that, I suppose, is behaving like a grown-up, whether I want to or not.
Tired of being a grown-up,

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