I don't feel much better. I'm definitely depressed. I don't usually stay depressed for very long, and this feels so very weird that it is bordering on despair. I'm ready to be finsihed now. Hello???
I stayed in bed most of the day yesterday. I skipped my health class and my bellydance class. I was warm and comfy and finished a fun book...but I was actually wrapped within a sodden emotional heap of invisible blankets.
Once my husband got home for the second time (he showed up to pay the roofer around 6:30, but then had to go back to work again), I was actually able to sit up and try to interract with another human. It was hard, because sometimes it is SO much easier to just read a book and ignore the world, but I love my husband and I definitely see him as one of the few people who can "fix" me - help me flip the energy / happiness switch in the access panel under my left shoulder blade. Unfortunately I didn't really have it in me. I tried...but then got sucked back down into finishing the book.
After a bit of him geeking and me reading in bed, I started to feel hungry. I headed to the kitchen for my favorite late-night snack: cereal. It always helps me sleep. I realized I was actually more hungry than I thought, so I decided to add chunks of white peach to "the usual."
The problem with that plan is our cereal bowls are not quite big enough to hold an entire piece of fruit + cereal + milk. In the weight management world, that is a good thing: If I put the peach in the bottom, then there is less space for cereal and milk, which are both higher calorie. Screw weight management. I pulled out a deeper, purple bowl from my pottery barn set.
M. followed me to the kitchen for his own snack. He took one look at my "snack" and said "Eating from a mixing bowl tonight, huh?"
"This is not a mixing bowl...its a serving bowl."
He mentioned something about semantics, and I returned to the bedroom.
Soon he was next to me in bed again, looking over at my snack. "Mmmm. Smells like cereal," he said. "There's more in the kitchen," I said, once again engrossed in what was happening with the witch heroine in a Kelly Armstrong novel. I was sitting in bed in my perfected reading / eating position: paperback open in the fingers of my left hand, one edge of the bowl in the palm of the open left hand, and the bottom resting near my collarbone. M. is fascinated by how I can do this and very effectively eat and read. But I can, and I'm a pro, so I was reading and crunching down Kashi, when M. walked back into the bedroom...holding a large black plastic serving spoon and the BIGGEST serving bowl we own.
"Mmmmm, Cereal," he said.
I started laughing so hard that I was lucky to get my cereal bowl to the bedside table. I forced myself to breathe through my nose long enough to swallow, preventing a gruesome death by Kashi. He pulled his regular bowl and a normal spoon out of the bottom of the huge bowl where it had been hidden, and proceeded to eat his cereal, sitting down next to me on the bed.
I didn't actually inhale much for the next 10 minutes. As hokey as it sounds, it is possible to laugh until your eyes water in a steady stream down the cheeks. Until abdominal walls are weak and sore from the muscle spasms. Thankfully, I was already on a bed, so when I couldn't stay propped up anymore, I just collapsed to the side. Gasping for air and kleenex to wipe my running nose I told him "That was the craziest, clownish thing you've ever done."
"Mmmmmm...cereal," he smiled.
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