7 days later:
Suzanne is very heavy today, which is not like her and throws me way off. I am very tired - a new level of tired... it is frustrating to keep finding it impossible to scrape together enough energy to write an email, or grade a few papers, or think about what needs doing next. It wouldn't matter if I could figure out what needs doing because I wouldn't be able to do it. I think it has to do with my diet. I should see a nutritionist...nah...too tired.
3 days after that:
Momma's in the hospital -- waiting on her angiogram that is scheduled for tomorrow morning. I am in sixteen-year-old denial. This cannot be happening, so it isn't.
Just spoke to Rog. He is handling it like a pro. (Dad has a knack for blowing up over weird, little stuff, like someone taking his pen. He handles the things people are allowed to freak out about like a champion, though. When I was sixteen, I buried his van up to the doors in sand on the beach at Beercan Alley. No big deal... I didn't even get grounded or lose driving privileges.)
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*The stress of the union presidency eased up as I grew more confident and comfortable with myself in that role. I even found it to be exciting, fun, and rewarding at times (mostly due to Suzanne's calm, wise, generous, and often humorous support). But the demands of the position just seemed to grow and grow. I am revisiting these entries, anchoring myself in the relief of a life filled with stuff I want to do. We get to choose. Today I choose joy. It is the only real thing I can do to change the world.
**Stay tuned for more on the momma trauma. (I know I was wrong for that, but she is ok, so it's ok.)
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