The first of March, I did the thing I'm supposed to be doing, and wrote about the day that's haunted me, off and on, for 22 years. Really, I didn't think it would make any difference, but it did. I feel better. Much better.
I'm out of that room now. I keep waiting to slam back into it, but I'm not. I'm getting things done instead. Smiling more. Planting seeds. Feeling good about it.
D seems to be improving his behavior. We talked to a couple of therapists at school, who say he's fine, just a bit high-strung. I haven't talked about this, but I'll get around to it.
And I'm doing something insane today and dragging the boyos into work with me. It's a diminishing gig, but I'll take the money while I can.
Clowncar and lil Hux along with the girlios will be gracing our house this weekend, which is always a reason for celebration. I'll try not to play the part of Hungover Mother this time. (I swear if I ever form an all-girl punk band, I'm calling it Hungover Mother).
So. My hair's about dry, which means it's time to pile the boyos in the car and go.