soaked

I've been exhausted lately, no matter how much I sleep. I sit at work and fantasize about my bed. Don't get excited - it's boring stuff like how I will hunker down under the blankets, how comfortable my pajamas will feel, and how nice it will be to drift numbly off to dreamland.

Here are my stages of grief, explained. I waver between #2 and #4. Mostly #4 lately:

1. Denial: (You're frickin' kidding me, right? And you're telling me this right before Christmas? This can't be happening.)
2. Anger: (I can't believe I put up with this crap for as long as I did. I can't believe I let you play both sides. I can't believe history is repeating itself yet AGAIN. I hate how you handled this. I hate me. I hate my life. And I would like to hit something repeatedly with great vigor.)
3. Bargaining: (Maybe if we just do this and this and this, and don't do this, and then do THIS only when this is like this, and look! I made a nifty equation: a + 2b - c (2n + 3e + 1) = things can go back the way they were.
4. Depression: (My life sucks. I'm a loser. I make terrible decisions. Nothing will ever get better. My house is trashed, I'm eating horribly, and I don't care. I'm destined to die alone in a puddle of urine, never having loved again.)
5. Acceptance: _______________________ (????). I'll get back to you on that one.

Today I just wanted to either kick the crap out of something, get on a plane and run away from my life, or lie on the floor of my office and scream and kick like a two year old. Instead, I decided that I would crank up my jacuzzi tub as soon as I got home. I could hardly wait. I think I would have started stripping down in the car if it would have saved time.

I soaked. And soaked. And soaked. I think I even dozed off for awhile, letting the jets pummel me all over and shake the day right out of me.

And afterward? I felt so much better.