I washed the mud off my boots and then set them to dry on the porch railing.
And then I wiped down the porch table and got the camp chairs out of the garage. I put two six packs of beer and a giant bottle of laundry detergent on the floor out of the way and then I pretended it was summer.
I brushed first one dog and then another. I sat in my camp chair and watched the birds coming to our bird feeders. I felt as old as my dad when he died but it wasn’t a bad feeling. I had nothing better to do than to watch the birds. I thought about getting the binoculars out of the closet but I knew moving would spook the birds so I just sat still with my face turned to the sun and did nothing.
It was what I needed to do.
Today was the day I needed to lay claim to my mental health. So that is what I did. The news and the fright and the anxiety were making me sick and so I put a stop to it. I spent most of the day outside, a good share of it with two dogs, shutting my eyes when they did, and not moving unless I had to. I turned my face to the sun and let everything go.
No one is going to save me from myself but me. That’s today’s lesson.