Midnight

After months of insomnia, he sleeps. My husband, fast asleep while the dog demands attention. A platter of treats at midnight? Sure. Wait, you’ve gone to sleep?

It is 77 degrees in the house, my mind is buzzing with panics and lists but for now the only sound I hear is the dryer running. Am I still and forever doing laundry?

A lost soul:
• not a homemaker
• not an executive (any longer)
• not an author (yet)
• not understanding myself or where I’m headed

Oddly, those I know seem rather pleased with their lives. Or at least they claim as much. A lawyer, a mom, a girl most likely who just became another girl; all happy. This I shall blame on change of medications, change of seasons or loose change.

It is just me?

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