I’ve done it. The Olympics are over. I’ve survived … with *some* of my sanity left.
And, I’m getting a day off. Tomorrow. And Leigh isn’t working. Yay me.
But I still feel on the verge of a meltdown. Maybe it’s my perpetually filthy apartment. Maybe it’s the funk that seems to ascend — without fail — this time of year. Maybe it’s because the snow this winter hasn’t been particularly epic, despite the fact that I’ve had many an awesome Saturday on the mountain. Maybe it’s because my roommates suck. Maybe it’s that I just need more sunshine.
Things are just … off. Not with anything in particular. In fact, in the vast majority of my life, things couldn’t be better. But there is a lingering, nagging wretch on my shoulder that keeps just dragging me down further and further. And I can’t put my thumb, or the proverbial flyswatter, on it. And it’s making me grumpy.