responsibility and sad or SAD

I'm really trying not to be sad about being back at school. Not SAD (though many suffer for that), just sad-- as in, not quite myself, not quite happy. I am really glad to be here, really! I am thrilled with the chance to be in seminary, studying right in all the same classes with Larry. I'm very aware how few get to have the opportunity to study what they want right alongside their spouse. But I'm sad.

There are plenty of legitimate things to point to, I think. I had SUCH a great time at home for practically a month. I got to hang out with A LOT of 2 year olds that came along with some of my very closest friends ever. And let's face it-- when you move, you don't replace those kinds of friends. In fact, it even takes a long time for friends to even remotely come close to the level of closeness that you'll have with the "gold" friends. And "silver" just isn't cutting it for me right now.

(25 points for those of you now singing the girl scout song to yourself)

But I really think what's bearing down on me is the weight of responsibility. Being at home had very little responsibilities-- I voluntarily washed dishes and cooked meals, went to the grocery store, or vacuumed. Here I have to because no one else will. And without demeaning Larry, most of the time I do those kind of chores by myself. My poor little hyper-extroverted self just doesn't do by myself well very often. Not to mention work and school and blah blah blah.

But it's really even the more mundane that get to me. Is anyone else bothered by the stack of magazines that lie unread? Or the Netflix movie that's sat in the bowl for a month?

I know-- I'm ridiculous.

SO-- What's your best cure for sad or SAD? Either one, we've got lots of cases up here.

For me, I hope it's sledding on 8 inches of fresh powder on top of 18 inches of not so fresh tomorrow morning. It's also the cluttered fridge filled with the pictures of those precious 2 year olds.

So I'll stop my whining. Here's some humorous, pre-recorded whining for all of you, taken immediately after our baby-sitting shift at his brother's. That precious 2 year old is in time-out. They've taught him to "spread 'em."