We are in week 2 post-traumatic event.
I’m still a whole wreck. I feel like I’m walking on eggshells, exhausted, and scared.
Hope is moving like I’m nuts, and she’s a-ok.
Narrator: No one in the house is really ok, not even close.
I’m the eldest child. I’m a fixer. You give me a problem, and I will come up with a range of solutions. I’m even creative with it.
I have nothing. No solutions, much less a range of them.
I have to wait this out.
I have a front row, center seat in this major Broadway drama. And it is a serious drama. I’m on the edge of my seat because it’s a psychological thriller, and I’m scared to death.
I must wait Hope out until she’s ready to deal with her stuff. That could be a long time, especially since she’s discovered her new superpower of saying “No,” adult style.
And I do believe it’s theatre. I believe that we desperately need the help of a team of professionals. I also believe it will be a while before we get there. We are nowhere near rock bottom yet. That said, I’m seriously a wreck. I’m worried. I’m anxious. I’m depressed—like sad and exhausted depressed.
So, for now, I will focus on propping myself up. I have a number of crochet projects underway; I’m working on building up a bit of inventory for my little floundering Etsy store (Doggy/Kitty sweaters and such). I have a business trip soon and my beau will be joining me. I’m looking at travel packages for what I plan to be an epic trip to Egypt next year.
I have no idea how many acts this drama has, but I’ll just keep sitting here, waiting for the cue for audience participation.
Break=a-leg, Hope. Break-a-leg.
(Thank you all so much for your support re: my last post. Much appreciated.)