Six inches on the ground and it’s still falling. 

It’s amazing the difference a few years and a mental illness can have on one’s attitude toward a snow day. Four or five years ago, I would have loved having a snow day. I would have begged my husband to stay home from work, using all my powers of persuasian to convince him to snuggle in bed with me until he had to get up and log in to his work email to work from home. Then, I could have spent the day periodically going into the office for kisses or giving him a neck or shoulder rub… 


This morning, I told him to do what he thought was best, stay home or go in. He waffled for 30minutes between his two options, before ultimately deciding to go in. That’s fine. He stayed for one meeting and was home for lunch. Now he’s in the office, while I’m in the other room watching NCIS and lamenting my life. I didn’t get snuggles, every kiss is a simple peck on the lips, and if I go in and bug him, I am doing just that – bugging him. 

I don’t want you to get the wrong idea (anyone who might be reading.) He’s not mean or malicious towards me. He’s not abusive, or anything. He’s just… neglectful sometimes. More often than I like.


Snow day. I’m alone, but not alone as usual. 

I’m not sure which is more depressing.

(Sorry, I’ll try to post something less depressing tomorrow.)

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