I think we all should worry, Erik, about many things. But, you are talking about something else — me.

Right now, my depression is mostly about my grandchildren moving away — that is the immediate, in-my-face, can’t-breathe depression. Hopefully, I will adjust eventually to that reality. Hard to imagine but I guess it could happen.

My Trump depression is ongoing, worsened recently by caged children, mistreated immigrants, Supreme Court decisions, and police who think they not only are paid to uphold the law but to be judge, jury, and executioner too.

Yes, I am depressed but I’ve been much worse. Although there are more and much worse problems and situations about which to be depressed, I guess age has mellowed the part of me that used to actually expect life to be better than it is. If you don’t have the big expectations of youth, your disappointments are less overwhelming.

An avalanche of work is keeping me going. For the next month, I’ll be logging in a very high number of hours, even high for me and I usually work long hours. Stay busy, don’t think — that’s my mantra.

I am starting a creative project with Lindsay Linegar and that may help.

I am reading a book about coping with loss and doing the exercises in it — mostly when I can’t sleep. May even post about them on Medium.

I am doing yoga several times a week after doing none for many months.

We are, hopefully, adopting two 10-year-old dogs whose owners are moving into a retirement community and can’t keep them. Going to central Florida to meet them in mid-July with our Pekingese. If all goes well, they’ll come home with us. Kind of replacing two grandchildren with two dogs. Not an equitable substitution but should occupy my nurturing needs.

I am also getting involved in a new (new to me) political party. Maybe that action will help me feel like I am doing something to fight Trump and his rat pack.

So, I am not wallowing. Although having time for tears and a little self-indulgent wallowing sure would be nice. I’ve never had the luxury of spending a day or even an afternoon crying. Sometimes I wonder if that would be better than staying so busy I can’t allow myself to have a breakdown, even a little one. I can’t imagine having the time to be openly sad — the kind of sad when you stay in your pajamas all day, eat ice cream, watch bad movies, and cry. Sounds tempting.

Thanks for asking about me, Erik. If I just keep working, I’ll be okay.

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