I've been trying to write a blog since December 1. Here's what I have so far:
12/1/22 Seven years ago I was attempting a purge of my house and belongings. I saw a post about organizing today and it took me back to December 2015. Before. Before our world came crashing down. Between. Between the last time and next to last time I would see my son.
12/15/22
Out of pocket
spill the tea
whenever I
feeling some type of way
toxic
narcissist
gaslighting
fangirl
level up 2023
deep dive
12/29/22
The holidays have been, shall we say, different. Quiet. Maybe this is the new normal. Christmas Eve deep cleaning my house. Christmas Day Pat and I sitting down to dinner together. It was good, don't get me wrong.
The kids are off adulting. My mom is shut in with Covid. She won't be around forever, that's just reality. My sister is consumed with her own actuality.
So forward time marches, through the dreary doldrums of winter. I sound more depressed than I am. I occupied myself in December with sending 50+ Christmas cards, little parties here and there, decorating a bit, and even baking. I enjoyed it.
I watched a re-cap of 2022 on TV last night. Struck by how many mass shootings this year (Buffalo, Uvalde, Colorado Springs), just awful. Unfortunately, I don't see this slowing down. Also, the people who died, my age, younger, older. Seems like they are all part of my cultural psyche from Sidney Portier to Oliva Newton John to tWitch.
