Well, kind of.

Which sucks because there are like four or five, maybe six more Chelsea stories.

But I’m not writing. And I haven’t been.

At first, I blamed the new puppy. Bruno was only 10 weeks old when he came to live with us in August, and he was a ton of work.

But as the weeks have gone by and now I’m on my break from the museum, I’m still not writing. And I know why. It’s because I’m depressed. This one crept up on me slowly, but yeah, I’m not working out, or writing, or baking, or even taking pictures. Crafting stuff for the house has become a chore instead of a joy. Even my dogs. Walking them and even basic command training is something I force myself to do for them, not something I’m enjoying.

Looking back, I can see it started this summer. When my husband dragged me to lake once a week, hoping I’d snap out of it. Or when he started taking me hiking twice a week this fall. Or when he bought me a damn puppy. The man knows his wife and he does try.

However, depression isn’t a neat disorder. Being outside helped then and helps now, but my brain chemistry still hasn’t reset. And just because I can see that I’m in a funk, doesn’t mean I can drag myself out of it. Especially in the winter.

For now, I try my best. I tried to write yesterday, but it didn’t happen. I did a lot of other stuff though; Projects for the house that I have been planning for months, training my puppy, repotting houseplants, etc. It’s not writing, or doing my physical therapy, both things that will improve my mood if I can bring myself to do them. And both things on my checklist.

But for the first time in weeks if not months, I didn’t wake up, turn on my computer, start a game and zone out for six hours.

Nor did read four books and ignore everyone.

Today, I got on here and wrote something. I haven’t done that in months. It feels good to use my brain like this. Hopefully, I can try again tomorrow.

Thursday, I’m checking out the local gym to see about a space to do physical therapy. My house is no longer empty and there is no good place for me to work out anymore. Also, I know me. I don’t waste money. If I pay for a membership, I will use it. And, during my rehab period, Thursday afternoons were always my time, both at the pool and terrestrial therapy. I’m a creature of habit. Let’s see if Thursday afternoons can keep being good to me.

So, no, I’m not back. But I am on my way.