I woke up with a wet pillow this morning and realized I'd been crying in my sleep. I'd had a terrible dream that my Dad and step-Mom were preparing to die and while everything else appeared normal, the family was gathering around to say good-byes. Even though I know it was a dream, I can't seem to shake the sadness of it and I keep breaking down into tearful sobbing jags.
Scoob, being the observant man that he is, held me while I cried the first couple times then wisely decided to get out of the house. My back has been bothering me for weeks (months, years) and I'm always more irritable when I'm in pain. (Going to the doctor on Monday.) Add to that the apparent hormonal swing that won't let me pull my shit together and I can't blame him for trying to escape—I would too, if I could.
"Hey hormones, I'm going to head out. Call me when you're done wreaking havoc on the house that is my body. Don't make a mess of things. And put everything back where you found it. Oh, and scrub the toilets while you're at it."
This can only mean that Day One is imminent.
Afternoon Update: It's officially Day One, damn I'm good.