I am in a total funk, and I have spent the better part of the day in denial about it. I got up at a reasonable hour and proceeded to finish some academic work. I called my best friend. I texted with my favorite sister (I have two!). I began preparations for Cuban black bean soup, which is simmering on the stove as I type. Rosemary focaccia rises nearby. I cuddled with a sleeping dog, who kept hitting my face with his paw. I even knit a sleeve while watching an episode of The X-Files because I have an enormous hetero-crush on David Duchovny and the show itself is just fabulous.
All this, however, failed to improve my funk, and I suspect that I am totally freakout out about concerned by two items - my birthday and an upcoming trip to my parents' home. Regarding the first, I just don't like it. I've despised my birthday for years. It has nothing to do with aging, and the particulars are so involved (and stretch so far back) that it's enough to say - I have my reasons. And they're excellent ones. And though friends and lovers, who are aware of my annual angst, have organized fabulously kind events in an attempt to make me love my birthday, I'd just rather skip through the whole damn thing this year. Minus the presents. I'm not that ridiculous.
This angst, which relates back to familial issues, is further exacerbated by an upcoming trip to das homeland. Two weeks ago, this trip seemed like a fabulous idea - a summer visit is not the same as a Christmas visit, and I thought I'd be okay by myself. Nevermind that my therapist told me not go back without a supportive friend or partner. As my parents are aging and certainly won't visit me because their schedules are far too busy and I'm not high enough up on the priority list.