A week has passed, and the pain is subsiding, but it is always right beneath the surface. When it was possible, I worked through it, but coming home to an empty apartment every evening was killing me. There are three bottles of hard liquor in the cabinet, four beers in the refrigerator, and two bottles of wine on the counter. Sometimes it feels like they are beckoning me. It has been so tempting just to drink myself into oblivion. I know it won't fix it, but at least it wouldn't hurt until the next morning. Thankfully, I haven't gone there yet. Instead, I started smoking again. My doctors would be so proud.

So many people depend on me to be a role model, to be strong for the kids. My personal life shouldn't affect my work. On the surface, it hasn't. Perhaps I am paler than usual, but that can be remedied with makeup. Are my eyes red? That must be my allergies. Do I seem agitated? Trying to make everything just right, it will be fine.

Nine hours of sleep in one week will eventually catch up to you; this time in the form of a migraine. Blinding pain combined with nausea isn't really conducive to anything but sleep, healing sleep. Nothing can compare to a ten hour nap right now.

Friends tell me that all of my feelings are valid, but I have never dealt with vulnerability well. I'd rather rage than cry, so I've lashed out. It hasn't helped the situation.

With upcoming visits and weekend trips planned, it is my hope that I can dull the pain enough to discuss it rationally. For now, I'm going to bury myself in work yet again and enjoy the good stuff. I hope to join a health club to work out some of the frustration. Taking a boxing class sounds like fun, but I think I'll start with something calmer... maybe yoga.