Just . . . blah.

I know I haven't written in a long time. The "high" I was on in my last post at work . . . yeah I'm not on that high now! I'm tired. I want Christmas vacation. Those few days of for Thanksgiving whet my appetite for some REAL time off.

That, and the holidays always make me depressed. I hate winter. If I didn't have kids I wouldn't decorate for Christmas. Especially this year. Call me Scrooge or whatever, but I just want to crawl into bed and slip into a half-asleep, half-wakeful but totally relaxed stupor. I don't want to think. I don't want to do anything. Depressed, yes. Yes, I am depressed.

I've been on the verge of tears all day. Just missing my baby. Hating the season. Missing my baby. Worried about should we try again. [Do you know that in my latest scenario I have myself dying in childbirth and my poor DH is now left to cope with raising three children by himself while dealing with his own grief over my death? That's sick. And that's how I think.] Missing my mother-in-law. Lazy and feeling bad about it. Feeling like I should do something and be productive. Feeling needy. Missing my baby. More worry. Letting myself feel overwhelmed. Everything. UGH.

I should do some grading tonight. But I'm not. I'm going to go downstairs and curl up with my True Crime: An American Anthology book and fall alseep on the couch (because I'm sick with a cold and am snoring and keeping the DH from sleeping). And I'm going to wake up and hope that tomorrow will be a better day.

At least I get to see my psychologist this week (Friday appointments). I missed last week because it was the Friday after Thanksgiving and no one was working who didn't have to. Including me. I was in bed in that stupor I so crave. Because then I don't have to feel. I hate feelings.