... meanwhile, seven months later - the day before the birthday. Can't even say *my* birthday - it's the birthday. Perhaps if I disassociate myself enough, the years will stop piling on.
I am so incredibly depressed, and can't quite put my finger on it. Can't be the birthday (see, I'm getting good at this disassociation thing). I usually like the sense of starting again, gifts and being the centre of attention. I know I'm stressed about stressing DH about getting me a present I would like. He tried so valiantly this morning to talk me into going out tonight. What for, methinks.
I'm at the right weight, still can fit into everything, job is fine, everything is fine. May be that's the problem. May be I thrive on ups and downs, and can't manage a normal, straight line moderated life. I just have this sense of having missed my chance (like turning down the higher paying job with the tons more holidays), didn't follow through (like leaving all my hobbies behind), and have isolated myself - whatever happened to having girlfriends you could do girly things with?
On top of all this, is this general apathy and lack of energy. I don't know who ate up all my optimism. May be I spent it all and you only get so much in a lifetime. Always being the one to force others to see the positive side is taking its toll. What is so positive about turning 46? And what is so positive about staying in a job fraught with psychological warfare that gives no respite ever - not at night nor weekends? All this because I have made myself personally responsible for rescuing my surroundings from the depths of cynicism and turn everyone into happy elves who live in hug-land.
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