breaking

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.

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