The most difficult part of being med-free is determining whether the last 24 hours of feminine lacrimal activity is PMS or something quite the opposite. Otherwise, I am somewhat giddier, more at ease with my own language, and a touch more easily distracted. Read: Altogether happy, although I cried a lot yesterday.
I am also entirely in love with my husband; drowning in it, really. I saw him off to the Valley of Salt an hour and a half ago, and I am missing him terribly. This is made worse by the fact that if I'd remembered to complete a major editing task for Pie Tin's lit journal over the weekend, I could be with him.
Instead, I am piecing together an email interview with a regional artist of significant renown in the LDS Church. I'll meet with this artist Thursday for a face-to-face follow-up. The journal has become the other half of my life. Even Greek has lagged nearly out of the picture. I'll be relieved and less weepy once this edition is put to bed and I can focus on not being puppetted at times by my advisor, or thrown beneath the cart whenever someone else on staff stops pulling their weight.
So I tell myself I have reason to be weepy. Even if I'm two days from 28.
Also, my house is a complete disaster. Who wouldn't cry over that?