Believe in the Flowers.

Carol of the Zombie Jesus!

I hate days like this.

Hate, hate, hate.

I think when I first woke up a little after 6 AM that I knew it was going to be an off day, if not one of "those" days when all I can think about is loss and death. Never mind that it's beautifully sunny outside (and would probably be perfect if the temperature could dare to climb over 40F), never mind that nothing's really wrong (although I could use to clean up the living room again and finish up the bedroom, maybe), never mind that everything is as it should be.

At some point today, my mind said, "Hey! I'm gonna fuck you up, okay? Hold still a second." And that was just the end of it.

Days like this are spent mourning a situation that hasn't been (and hopefully won't be) and crying over children I've never known. It's spent looking at blogs and websites of parents who have lost their babies and sobbing for them, imagining myself in the same situation even though it only makes me cry more. It's a tendency that I get sometimes, one I can't explain and probably don't want to have explained, now that I'm thinking about it. It doesn't matter that Col's still here, or that Gabe is perfect and very much alive. I mourn for these other mothers and for the beautiful children that they've lost. Why? I couldn't answer that question, except to say that it's either an eventual requirement of motherhood, or that I'm just that insane and this is "one of those things" that's the result of an acute mental condition that I refuse to have diagnosed. I'm already depressed, already overweight, already have low self-esteem - let's not throw another log onto the fire, mmkay?

So I woke up a little after 6 AM, feeling ill. Col had felt like that earlier in the evening but had managed to come to bed despite it, a couple hours after I did (I think). I went to the bathroom but still felt unsure of my stomach so I stayed up about an hour after that, then came back to bed. Naturally, my returning to bed began the waking up process for Gabe, who at around 8 (or thereabouts) decided that he was done pretending to sleep and it was time for all of us to get up right now. Only, I didn't want to. I asked Col to get up with him, and maybe an hour and a half later (around 10:30?) and after some Wheat Thins and a bottle for breakfast, Gabe came back to bed. With Col. And naturally, you can guess which one of them had no interest in sleeping.

He eventually passed out, though, but I couldn't bring myself to stay in bed much longer. I got up. Came to the computer. Got online. Checked a blog, ended up clicking around, found myself in my current depressive state. I left and got a shower, then came back - and damn that MSN for having on its front page a story entitled, "When A Baby Is Destined To Die". Thank you so much for adding fuel to my emotional fire! Naturally, I read it. I cried. Big surprise.

Thank God those posts only last a day, sometimes not even that.

I hope I can get out of this rut. Mom just called and let me know that she had acute sinusitus (?!?!) and bronchitis, so apparently I get to go procure Kleenexes for her. Probably after Col goes to work at 4-ish. Maybe earlier.

Baaaah. Must .. Escape .. This.