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Dear John,
It's late and I'm piled up in bed with Jethro at my feet, Hunter and Maggie on my legs, and Abby off goodness-knows-where. Abby is mad at me because I won't let her eat Styrofoam berries. I'm such a mean mother.
I had a good day at work, slower than usual but fairly steady. Most of the factories are closed this week so there are fewer merchant deposits, fewer paychecks, and lots of people out of town. Tomorrow should be either feast or famine - nobody is sure which. We close at 3:00 instead of 5:00, so there will be less of whatever it is.
I'm tired. I've been tired all day. I don't feel bad but I don't feel right. Part of it is fibro and part is the holiday season. Tomorrow is New Year's Eve, and I can't get worked up about this thing of having another year. I will have made it through 2014 - a laudable achievement, especially considering that I didn't want to. And it's been better than 2013, which was better than 2012, not that that takes much. Now I'm looking at 2015 and I couldn't be less interested. Do we really have to have another year? Can I opt out of this?
I suppose the turn of the year reminds me that there is future stretching out ahead of me and, as long as I'm on this earth, you will not be here for it. That's a singularly unpleasant fact to contemplate. It seems that I can still only take the future in limited amounts.
So I will readjust my focal length to something tolerable. Maybe I'll just look ahead as far as vacation in the spring. That should make me feel better. Seeing a few yards ahead is okay. But there is no need to lift my eyes to the horizon and see how far I must continue to travel alone.
For tonight, life is quiet and good. As I said yesterday, there's food in the pantry, the litter boxes are clean, the laundry is done, and my animals love me. And I know that you love me, too, just as surely as I knew it when you were here beside me. That won't change as the calendar turns over. That will never change.
Constantly yours,
Joan.
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