It occurred to me today that I've slipped back into stress-mode. Sleep patterns are off; I'm fidgety and anxious. I've started cooking again, but the idea of eating turns my stomach. I walked into the apartment after work this evening, and the smell of the neighbors' dinner wafting up from downstairs was enough to make me nauseous. I dread going in to work, because I know that the boss isn't a music lover and he feels like I'm wasting his time. (It's an odd thing- the choir has the summer off because he wants to "cut back" on the music, but he's asking me to do all kinds of extras. MIXED MESSAGES!!! AAAHHH!!!)
We have a meeting with the lawyer this week to see how the divorce is moving along, so hopefully that will take some of the edge off. Mooch is fabulous and funny and swell, though, so I really shouldn't be complaining. She's recently discovered Winnie the Pooh, and she's also terribly keen on the Little Bear books... Anything with animals, really. We're starting to dig through the "special" book pile I sat aside for reading together, which just thrills me to death. I've been buying books for her library since she was four months old, and we have two sets now: the shelf in her room is for sturdy, cardboard, can take a beating kind of books, and the shelf in my room is for the more run of the mill variety that are great for reading together, but probably wouldn't stand up to the rigors of a two year old left to her own devices. It pleases me to no end that there are books scattered through every room here- of all the dreams I had for our "home", at least that is shaping up well.