I�ve been fighting a descent into depression lately, and it appears that the depression is winning the battle. In an attempt to ward off the demons, I�ve been trying to keep busy, but that�s a double-edged sword. While being busy does serve as a distraction, it also results in an increase in pain.

On Saturday, I spent four hours cleaning the kitchen. I�m still paying for it. The house is filthy (which weighs heavily on my mind), but there�s not much I can do about it. The doctor said no bending, stretching, pushing, twisting or lifting. If I disregard those orders (like when I did some shoveling, or plunged the toilet, for example), I suffer.

On Sunday, I went shopping with my sister, Michele. Afterwards, we dropped by my brother Michael�s house for a visit. (He cooked a pork roast, mashed potatoes and green beans. What a guy!) I mentioned that I was having a problem with the door on the mirrored cabinet on the bathroom wall, and he offered to come over to take a look. He did what he could, but recommends that we buy a new cabinet. Because of the size (it�s actually two cabinets, side by side), it won�t be cheap.

While Mike was here, I showed him the collection of duck boxes, and told him to pick one. (My sisters are next.) He was blown away. After he made his choice

I made mine.

Later on, I put newspaper clippings, memorial cards, and a laminated copy of the obituary in the box, along with Mark�s ashes. While I was going through the bag that held the newspaper articles and other miscellaneous items related to Mark�s death, I came across an 8 x 10 of this photo:

Seeing this picture pulled the rug out from under my feet. It captures Mark�s vibrancy. He was so full of life. It just doesn�t seem right that doing what he loved to do COST him his life.

Yesterday, I made a huge pot of spaghetti sauce (chock full of turkey meatballs, pork neck bones and beef chunks) in preparation for the stuffed shells Rebecca and I have been craving. While the sauce was simmering, my father came over for a haircut. I had forgotten that the photo of Mark was on the coffee table. When my father saw it, he fell apart. That made ME fall apart. It�s so hard to keep it together.

Back in November, my massage therapist gave me a gift certificate for three free one-hour massages. I was talking to LA yesterday, and she recommended that I go for a massage. That reminded me of the gift certificate, and I was determined to call for an appointment. But I haven�t been able to pick up the phone. It�s too heavy.

Song of the Day: Another Brick in the Wall by Pink Floyd