In the spirit of full disclosure, I am out of my mind today. I'm not sure I slept at all last night. Nausea and Kleenex are my constant companions. I can't seem to get my mind around my son's diagnosis and what it might mean for him. I'm grieving without even knowing what to grieve.
It's startling how quickly my convictions, no matter how trivial, go out the window the minute I get bad, okay terrible, news. For instance, there's my promise to myself to eat healthy. Gone. I don't care if, let alone what, I eat today. And, the only thing that sounds good is ice cream.
My family readily concurred with that assertion, so we betrayed our convictions and went out for ice cream. Actually it was frozen custard: sinfully delicious, terribly fattening, and ridiculously expensive (to the tune of $15.60, the price of about two gallons of ice cream). But we did it anyway. There's probably no doctor or counselor anywhere that would admit chocolate custard blended with raspberries and topped with hot fudge facilitates emotional healing. But you'll never convince me.
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