I should be happy, but I’m not. I’ve just returned home after being gone almost three weeks. The drive of the last four days, with my teenage son, went well. Very little arguing. I’m home.
But for some reason, my insides feel devastated, crumbling, dust ready to blow away in the wind.
I wish I could write more about it, but I can’t. I can’t let the feelings out or they will consume me.