The past few days have been pretty good. Yesterday I woke up before 8 a.m., a very rare occurrence for a Saturday, and managed to get a LOT of stuff done including taking the dog for a walk! And today, I'm planning to write and go out with a friend this evening for appetizers and good conversation.
It's amazing to me how my emotions tend to be all over the map. Yesterday was beautiful outside - temps in the 70s - and as I ran my errands around town, I had the windows down and the music blaring, and I felt optimistic and happy. But by that evening, after I'd enjoyed dinner with my family, I came home and felt...lost and a little empty.
Par for the course, I'm sure. There are times I desperately miss my husband and times where I'm content being by myself. My pets keep me occupied, as does taking care of the house, and I'm looking forward to really diving into my manuscript and losing myself in its world.
I have to keep moving forward. That's the key to surviving this.
I'm making progress, though. For the first week, I barely left my bedroom. I laid in bed and watched TV, staring blankly at the screen merely so I could occupy my mind and keep myself from bursting into tears. My heart was raw and painful.
Maybe I should measure my recovery in terms of tears shed a day. Ha! If that's the case, I haven't cried in four days. Perhaps a new record!
One day at a time...
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