I am officially approaching burnout and it is a scary place to be. I decide right then and there that I need to step back a few paces and get some semblance of balance and order back or I will be over the edge in a place that I am unable to return from. I can see the possibility of sliding into depression and the prospect of taking to my bed for the next 2 months is sickeningly inviting. I refuse to go there. I know I need to pull myself together. I have children depending on me, a job to do, family and friends to take care of and a house to steward. For the first time in well…ever, I have absolutely no desire to celebrate Christmas or partake in any holiday festivities. Even the last time Anthony was deployed, the same year my father had died, although my heart was shattered, I still felt some solace and comfort in the meaning of the season and some sense of wonder, especially through my children’s eye. Not this year, nothing. No Christmas trees, no shopping, no baking, I could care less. It only feels like a supreme burden to take part and the thought of the planning, the decorating and the festive spirit that usually thrill me fill me with a dark and empty dread. That is scary even to me as I think those thoughts.

Some action is necessary and to that end I decide right now to take some time off from work this week to get my head back in the game, some sleep and self-care under my belt and transform my home back into the place of comfort and strength that I so crave. Something needs to give and so it must be work…