Sunday, April 24, 2005

Hot Chili

Genny just went to bed. I walk out of her room, shut the door behind me and feel a sense of relief. Hopefully, she will sleep all night, but most likely she’ll wake up around Midnight or so.

My depression is feeling very heavy tonight, like a dirty trench coat on a crippled old man. There is no obvious reason for my depression at the moment. None that I can think of at least. And I feel very cold, although it isn’t that cold outside.

I think the higher dosage of my antidepressant is making me feel cloudy headed. Tired, like fuzzy curtains drawn across my brain. I wish I could tug on the cord and pull the cloth aside. Open the shades and reveal a clearer space.

Sometimes I think I am not cut out for this mothering gig. I want to be more enthusiastic about playing with Genevieve. I want to be more creative in teaching her about life. I want to feel sad when it is time to put her down for bed.

I know that I am just in a low mood and that it will pass. I love Genevieve. Nick is opening photos of her from some emails. She was so tiny and had so little hair.

I’m going to cook dinner now. I feel a certain sense of serenity when I cook, even if I’m just heating up my vegetarian chili. The results of my efforts will be immediate—hot food to quench my growling belly. I will not have to wait years to see how my chili’s going to turn out.

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