Yeah.
Yeah.
On one hand, I haven't had many hot flashes lately, which is good. On the other, I've been depressed. Not the major - wake up crying - can't get a handle on it - depression, but an unrelenting sadness. My sister and her kids, they're happy, they're active, they're so...well, TOGETHER. Look at me, I'm practically house-bound. Work and home and work and home. Yes, I read and knit and crochet, but that's it. Maybe it should be enough, maybe I'm being selfish. But it's not. I hate being shy. I hate the thought of doing things alone, but if I don't, I won't. God, I think I've written this before. I'm a freakin broken record. I might as well write down how much I want to be on the View, how I want to do the Amazing Race, write my own novel. And yet...and yet, none of that is going to happen. And while I'm going on about things that are not going to happen, I guess I could go on about stuff I'm not going to have - an iPhone, a Macbook (or iPad), an iPod, the boxed set of the Beatles, my little strawbale house.
sigh.
