Home. Again.

Together this time. Laying in bed pigging out on things we shouldn’t be pigging out on and watching old episodes on Criminal Minds [the Gideon days, the best days] and commiserating about how great the Gideon seasons were. Neither of us feel like dealing with the rest of the world today. Outside, I’m acting like everything is okay. Like we didn’t receive some brow-raising news this past week. Like we’re not really pissed and untrusting of people we thought we could trust. Inside, I am livid. And worried. And hurting and frustrated and uncertain for him. This past year has been exercise in counting blessings and considering ourselves lucky. Right now I feel as though we’re down on our luck more than anything else. When one thing goes right, five things go wrong. One wonderful week is followed by three ugly ones. When does it all just end?

For now, I’m content with staying in. Going back to work. Seeking out the best treatment for him and giving him all the time he needs. Looking for a puppy [admittedly, we’ve sort of “found” one but need to meet him first]. Living life. Hoping for the best.