Melancholy

Some days I feel the melancholy, the ennui of grief. On these days I glide along, feigning interest in everything. On these days I mostly want to curl up in a ball and sleep for a long time (but the sleep doesn't come).

Some days are a little lighter - I can laugh, I'm inquisitive, I want to read a book or watch TV. On these days I need to let myself be lighter, and keep myself from manufacturing sadness. On these days I let myself watch Community or Parks and Rec, instead of forcing myself to cry while reading my memoirs about death.

Each day, each mood is valid. Each is a part of "the process," part of the ebb and flow of grief. Though I certainly wouldn't mind if "the process" was a little more predictable.