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Yesterday, I spring cleaned hard core from 4 p.m. to 8 p.m. and then collapsed on the couch and watched Netflix, barely moving for two hours until I hauled my ass to bed at 10 p.m.

I ate pizza and cheesecake for supper.

We’re out of fruit, almost out of coffee, almost out of toilet paper,and yet, I can’t seem to make myself go to the grocery store or create a meal plan for the week.

I have no desire to take care of myself now that I don’t have a child in my life.

Even though we had plenty of time to prepare for foster toddler’s departure, it wasn’t until the day before that it really hit home – she’s leaving.  It’s strange to come home and find toys scattered about, and her bed unmade, and little socks in the dryer, and know that she’s gone.  Sometimes, I think, “She’s just at daycare.  I’ll pick her up at 5.”

I know I’ve said that it doesn’t take a saint to be a foster parent, but it does require a certain strength or perhaps, resilience, and a willingness to have your heart broken many, many times (masochism?)

We garden, but you know that.  I love my chickens and dogs, but you know that, too.  I’m having trouble creating “content” for the blog lately.  Blame it on a broken heart, but everything I do seems tired and bland and pointless, especially making theatre.  I understand that I am responsible for creating purpose and meaning in my life, but when such a large part of my purpose for the past six months was “raise a happy and healthy child” and suddenly that’s gone, it’s easy to sink into a pothole of despair (not a pit; it’s not that deep; I’ll climb out eventually).

In the meantime, I just keep moving forward.  I don’t think ahead too much.  I just do whatever the next step is.  The next step right now is spring cleaning.  Hopefully, in a couple of weeks, not only will I have a sparkling clean house, I’ll have a mended spirit.