26
Feb
I had a nice week. Helen was here. We hung out, cooked (mostly she did), ate, drank bubbly, binge-watched trashy Shonda TV and even got a mani/pedi today. I made some trades. I Pelotoned. Listed stuff on eBay. Went for some walks. Heck, I even Wordled.
But it’s Friday night again. And as I get ready to go to bed I remember that a Friday night just a few weeks ago was the last night Smokey was OK. Perfectly OK and as awesome as always. And then he woke me up Saturday AM and we went for our walk and then about 2 hours later my life crumbled into sadness. And I cannot shake this. Every Friday night I feel this way. And then every Saturday. And Sunday. This is why I hate weekends right now.
I’m trying. I really am.
