So, this should be the part where I explain where I’ve been since December. I’ve been nowhere, really. (That’s not true. I’ve had some lovely travels over Spring Break with my family to New York City and Boston, and more recently, to cities closer to home.) However, what should have been a larger trip out of the country with my spouse and kids at the end of May to celebrate our upcoming 25th wedding anniversary ended up with me totally crashing, both physically and mentally before we were able to leave.

I’m not going to go into the gory details, except to say that it was a combination of things that had happened over the past year all piling on top of each other. Also, I should have followed the recommendations of my doctors a year or so ago, instead of deciding I didn’t really need to try hormone replacement therapy or a new antidepressant just yet. Let this be a lesson from me to you to maybe think about the options you’ve been given and try them out, even if you think you might not tolerate them. At least, you can adjust them if you don’t.

Anyway, I’m taking care of myself now and having a low key summer at home, which is probably what I needed. I’ve sketched a little, but I hadn’t written much, read much, or even sewn much until very recently (see above about the need for a new antidepressant). It’s taken a lot to get back into the hobbies I love, and I still haven’t written anything of worth in a while. The state of the world and the state of the publishing industry have left me with little interest in putting words to paper. Which is probably another reason why I haven’t posted since December. There’s nothing new to share, except I did work the election polls on our Primary Election Day in early May. It was a long and sometimes difficult day, but it was one of the few things I knew I could do to help keep democracy going in my state and country.

Also, it is my birthday today. I’m 49 years old. Almost half a century. It feels weird because it doesn’t seem like I should be this age yet, but also, my body is telling me I’m exactly this age and possibly much older. I understand why so many middle-aged people say they don’t feel as old as they are. I keep coming back to the fact that I may only have 20 to 30 more good years in me (if not longer), and then I have to stop thinking about it, because it’s just too depressing. It’s definitely something to bring up with my therapist next. (Also, find yourself a good therapist.)

I guess there’s really not much more for me to say. I hope you’re finding small bits of joy wherever you are in your life and that it isn’t too hot or too cold or too wet or too dry where you live. Maybe I’ll find the energy to write again soon and share it here when I do.

Have a happy summer. And thanks for reading.

A. Cook