It is That Week. The week that I go off the hormone-laced pills (I don't take the placebos; I put them in a jar, like Mimi Smartypants) and suddenly my emotional landscape is magnified. Tiny imperfections become gaping wounds, stretches of time last forever and a half. I'm exaggerating a little, but then, wouldn't I? Anyway, I generally feel better once I start to bleed, so tomorrow I should be able to proceed with my plan of the week.
Though I never do seem to get through my plan of the week. Why is that? Am I truly going to spend the rest of my life behind? I hate the prospect of that. But I can't just let things go, either (hence why Eric and I are having difficulties, or at least we have been in the past couple of days since, as I mentioned, I went off the hormone pills). I suppose I don't truly want to. Hence why I have a hat and a teddy bear and a sweater half-knitted, and some lace yarn in a color that does nothing for me half-plied, and five recipes I want to get to this week, and so on.