My Spring Break begins today, and Gentle Reader, I am not very good with breaks.
I am a workaholic; time off and I do not get along.
I suffer from severe anxiety; I keep thinking I need to get more work done (see above re: workaholic).
I overanalyze and overthink everything; I keep myself from enjoying time off.
It’s time to work through some of these issues, and I am, truly. I watched myself break apart, and I’m slowly allowing myself to be pieced back together. I’m a tapestry of cracks, a shattered windshield held together by hope and a whim, and so very fragile. One push and it all falls apart.
That one push often tends to be about Mom.
It’s almost a year since she’s passed, and it still hurts, everyday. I wish I could tell you it gets better, but it doesn’t. It just gets familiar. The pain doesn’t lessen; the pain is recognizable.
Almost a year, and I miss her like stars. Like the moon and stars and daffodils and rain.