That's where I am right now. Just fighting through.
Stomping across the landscape of the day trying not to think about anything much so I can get to the sleeping part.
Part of it is hormones. (Someday I will say to P. that I am kind of sorry that God and biology made her a lady with all of the baggage that comes with that.) Part of it is feeling overwhelmed by work, and by a future that is, as of now, promising to be even more full.
I look forward and think I will not cope. I will crack into a million pieces.
This is not a depression thing. This is a scheduling thing. A too few hours in the day thing. A not enough sleep thing. An up to me to figure out thing because when there is stretching to be done, it's inevitable that it's going to be me who figures out how to cross the gap.
Could I work more? Sure. Why not? There's a whole weekend day now where I don't do any work. There are times when I may go a whole evening without writing or editing a little something. Honestly, I'd like more clients, but they'd have to be regular retainer clients to get me out of the situation I'm in now because we're in no position for me to do a little of this and a little of that right now.
I swear, the whole (mysterious, sorry) situation makes me want to tear out my hair.
For balance, here's a gratitude check: I am employed. I am healthy. Things could be so much worse. P. is happy, and even if I am cranky right now, she forgives me.