Weekends are the worst. The house looms empty without her laughter and silliness to fill it. We try, Jake and I, but Cory brought the party. Our party is a bit more subdued...a little less falling-down-on the-floor-laughing and a little more pointing-at-one-another-silently-with-raised-eyebrows.
Through the week, I stay busy. I am healthy enough now to compartmentalize most days. I occupy my brain pretty well during my work day. After work is the same parenting grind as anyone else: dinner, homework, time together, shower, bedtime. But on Saturdays and Sundays-
there is way too much time to fill. I spend absolutely no time in my living room. I always expect to spy her curled up at one end with her favorite blanket and Church, and when that image doesn't appear, I get the hell out of there. What is the point? If it is possible to resent a couch, than I do. If it is possible to hate a room of your house just because it no longer provides you joy, than I do.
One of these days, I will buy a new couch and rearrange my furniture. That is the plan. For now, I will hide out in my bedroom with my turquoise IKEA rolley cart at my bedside, chocked full of art and journaling supplies, but still strangely resembling a hospital nightstand. It has been, hands down, one of my best purchases ever. It has kept me alive- and creating- for the last couple of years, no easy feat for an inanimate object.
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