This is January

My husband's snoring forced me onto the couch in the middle of the night in the middle of a snow storm. He's sick. Usually watching the world whitewashed any time of day or night leaves me feeling light and warm. Early this morning it just made me blue. The peace of the world outside the picture window magnified my interior doubts and fears. I eventually slept, but fitfully.

Yesterday was a test. I passed. This means only that I am still here today. I'm here to make sense of the trials and then learn from them. I had my first job interview. My first job interview in twenty-six years. It went better than I could have hoped for. I left there certain the job was mine because I was told as much. I agonized all day over whether or not I should accept it knowing it's not the right place for me long-term. I worried that I would burn this new bridge that seemed so sturdy and sound. 

I didn't get the job. I got high praise and could hear the uncertainty in his voice when he called to break the news. He wasn't so sure he was making the right decision. I felt relief. He let me down so I didn't have to disappoint him. Of course, relief turned to regret in the early morning hours as sleep evaded me. I picked myself apart without the slightest reprieve. Rejection is cruel and harsh and unforgiving.

It rained like a sieve all day yesterday. I came home from the interview and wanted to curl up on the couch and check out. I'm feeling this way frequently these days and it's on my radar this might be a problem. The kids had the day off so I had to be on. It was probably a blessing. Lily and I went shopping for lunch and we picked up some afternoon entertainment too. The three of us made paninis and lost ourselves in a double matinee. That's as on as I could muster.

As the sun set, I did laundry and made dinner, and was feeling a bit of a reprieve from so much uncertainty. The clothes must be cleaned and the family fed. This I can do. This I love. I checked my email on an evening whim. It's just not something I normally do at night, and there was a message from my cousin. My cousin who I haven't spoken with since I was in NYC in October. The cousin I was speaking to several times a week sometimes for hours. It's an apology that reads more like accusation. It's an I'm sorry, but. Even as I've made peace with the loss of that relationship, it opened up the scars. I felt manipulated and taken advantage of all over again. It's not healthy. No good will come from joining this conversation. The things I want to say, I won't. I won't because she's passive aggressive, hostile and delusional. Nothing I say will make a damn bit of difference. Not to mention she's a lawyer and a right fighter. There's no winning rationalizing with narcissists. But that's the thing, losing touch with a family member is always a loss. There's no winning. This was another worry that visited me in my sleepless hours. I want to make just enough peace that we can be in the same room, but on opposite sides. That's tricky.

This morning we were all moving slowly. Mike wasn't moving at all. He's down for the count. I drove Lily to school: a ride she thanked me for several times, and then I took the long way home. I drove in silence and I passed only a couple cars. I stopped and took some pictures from the road all the while praying that a snow plow wouldn't come over the hill behind me and that I will find some peace today.