So you come home and you play hours of dancing video games with nieces and nephews and beat them mostly, which you enjoy even though you’re not supposed to, because after the day you had you just need to remember that you’re good at something. Even if it has to be video games, you’ll take it.

You have dinner at your sisters where it’s cozy and you always feel welcome. You listen to your dad and sister talk during a tv show because you literally have nothing left to contribute to the day, not even conversation, and the dancing you did that beat the last of your energy out, is also starting to make you sore from head to toe and even the thought of using whatever muscles are required for talking is just too much.

When you drive back home that evening you only cry a little bit, because you need to cry. Those tears are holding onto the last of your tension. The last of the stress that events of the day have brewed up in your inner most being and nothing, absolutely nothing, can release it like tears can. So you cry. And you tell God for probably the bazillionth time that you don’t know what he’s doing or what he wants from you and you know that it’s ok.

Last, after you have put on your favorite indigo, flannel, pajama pants with stars on them (because really if you’re going to sleep in flannel pajama pants they should look like a nighttime sky), you sit down to do a little writing because you know you need to, more ,even, than you need to sleep. And it shuts things down in a way that isn’t sad or lonely, though those feelings have been lurking around in corners.

Sweet dreams.