Ungrounded

Gray skies and rain all day. It's cold and an unshakeable gloom hangs around the trees outside. Haven't spoken to a soul all day, on account of working almost non-stop and husband being out of town. Except for the breaks to sleep and walk outside. That was very refreshing, even though my head ached a bit in the cold. No one was on the streets, except for a cold wind and Click and Clack on my podcast. I bottle away any cheer I can find.

Listening to Madeleine Peyroux singing 'Weary Blues'. The best rendition I've heard so far. So many plans I had for today, but somehow the energy has slipped away. They say that the baby has a go at nutrients first, which may explain the sapped feeling. I've been eating all through the day, but I'll admit that some of it was junk. It's hard to find stuff to eat with low grade nausea humming in the background.

The jazz on radio cheered me up a bit, but even that can get tiresome after 5 hrs of it. Feel strangely ungrounded - acutely aware of how a thin wooden door separates the warm interior from the howling wind outside, the fragility of spaces and lives. My mind tends to come just a bit unhinged when I'm alone. I read that 1 in every 4 pregnancies end in a miscarriage. That's not counting those who never make it to a positive pregnancy test. Lives that just disappear, fluttering hearts that beat for a few weeks and then go quiet. Each of them is probably a tiny piece of a giant jigsaw puzzle, one that is so big that we'll never be able to see the big picture.

Tomorrow, husband returns home. Maybe the sun will be out too!