This is not to say that I still didn’t spend a day or two drinking a bottle of wine in the fourth week after my brother died– in the middle of the day. Sometimes followed by designer gelato from the corner store that sells roast chickens for $15.00, and miniature home-baked key lime pies for $7.00. I can’t imagine what I must’ve looked like at 3:00 in the afternoon. Of course I never took off my sunglasses. I just considered it my god-given natural right to be drunk and eating ice cream in the middle of the work week.
Mondays were the worst. The panic was visceral. My class in critical thinking started at 7:00 p.m., but the recovery process took 12 hours of hard work. Just getting out of bed took two, sometimes three hours, followed by 37 minutes of yoga, two or three different meditations. Shower, coffee. At my desk by noon. What did I need for tonight? What had to be graded?
Read the whole essay at The Nervous Breakdown