wearing the sad pants

About five or six times a day I think I’m going to come around a corner and see my dog waiting for me. Every time I come home from somewhere I half expect him to be on the other side of the door greeting me as he did — less energetically in recent years of course. I pause at the photo of him in my bedroom and just miss him. I’m not crying as much as I first did so that’s progress. I think with all that’s gone on lately, my ongoing deteriorating health, I figured losing him would push me over the edge but I’m still here.
Right now I’m just holding on to the end of my rope. I’m not quite sure what else life feels like throwing at me. Not that I’ve got the worst situation — not by a long shot. I’m not writing anything that’s worth a damn these days. I understand how easy it would be for me to get hooked on painkillers — not because they make me feel better, they don’t, they just make me feel different and right now different is enough. I’m being mindful to limit them and not request refills. I’m thinking maybe I’ll just become a pothead. Not that I like pot — but in small doses it’s a bit relaxing. D and I will probably go get prescriptions next week.
On the plus side my house is pretty clean. I’ve gotten organized and have been straightening closets and drawers — limiting my lifting of course. I’ve been doing pilates at a Physical Therapist’s office in Burbank. They’re very nice but I have to say it feels like total bullshit. I’m probably doing it wrong. It literally feels like I’m not doing anything. I leave there feeling exactly the same as when I walked in. Cumulative?
Okay this is super depressing. I’m going to sign off here before bore/depress y’all too much.