Yesterday, I spring cleaned hard core from 4 p.m. to 8 p.m. and then collapsed on the couch and watched Netflix, barely moving for two hours until I hauled my ass to bed at 10 p.m.
I ate pizza and cheesecake for supper.
We’re out of fruit, almost out of coffee, almost out of toilet paper,and yet, I can’t seem to make myself go to the grocery store or create a meal plan for the week.
I have no desire to take care of myself now that I don’t have a child in my life.
Even though we had plenty of time to prepare for foster toddler’s departure, it wasn’t until the day before that it really hit home – she’s leaving. It’s strange to come home and find toys scattered about, and her bed unmade, and little socks in the dryer, and know that she’s gone. Sometimes, I think, “She’s just at daycare. I’ll pick her up at 5.”
I know I’ve said that it doesn’t take a saint to be a foster parent, but it does require a certain strength or perhaps, resilience, and a willingness to have your heart broken many, many times (masochism?)
We garden, but you know that. I love my chickens and dogs, but you know that, too. I’m having trouble creating “content” for the blog lately. Blame it on a broken heart, but everything I do seems tired and bland and pointless, especially making theatre. I understand that I am responsible for creating purpose and meaning in my life, but when such a large part of my purpose for the past six months was “raise a happy and healthy child” and suddenly that’s gone, it’s easy to sink into a pothole of despair (not a pit; it’s not that deep; I’ll climb out eventually).
In the meantime, I just keep moving forward. I don’t think ahead too much. I just do whatever the next step is. The next step right now is spring cleaning. Hopefully, in a couple of weeks, not only will I have a sparkling clean house, I’ll have a mended spirit.