Echoes.

Act normal, act normal, act normal…

Just because I don’t feel like laughing doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t anyway.
Even though I couldn’t repeat a word of what you said to me doesn’t mean I didn’t really mean it when I asked about your weekend.

I’m just a little tired right now.
A little stressed.

My smile might not reach my eyes – as stupid as that phrase is – but there is a point somewhere inside where I actually mean it.
I just am having a hard time concentrating on it.
Or anything, really.

Some weekends just aren’t long enough to recuperate completely.

I hate this negativity that has planted itself here.

My daughter came home teary-eyed last night.
Nothing happened, except what has happened to the rest of us.
The cloudy days do their damage like they do every winter.
She wants to see her therapist again.  Talks about feeling a gigantic hole in her chest all of the time.
But doesn’t want to see Angie because her dad and stepmom make fun of her.
Ironic.
To credit counseling with a church leader as saving their marriage, but laughing at counseling with a person who holds degrees in the subject – as though God wouldn’t visit you in their office too.

I just tell her how it is for me.
How alike we are.
How it’s okay – normal, even.
And she identifies with what I say, my coping techniques for a problem that I didn’t even realize I had at that age.

She’s lucky.
Feeling this way sucks but realizing you aren’t losing your mind is a gift.
What would happen to her if I weren’t the one in charge right now?  If she had to rely on them and their opinions on the subject?
Would she end up as scared and unsure of the implications as my husband is?
Because there are no implications in the reality of it.

There’s simply fact and how to deal with it.

I don’t really want to tangent here.
I do wish I’d remember how to smile without it being a conscious decision.