My depression is improving. I've been listening to a Tito Gobbi CD. One of the most tragic arias is when Rigoletto discovers that his daughter has been kidnapped and sold to the duke of Mantova, for whom he works as a jester.
And then it hit me: my own tragedies are much less operatic. At least I was not born a hunchback whose only possible job is to be a jester, and whose daughter ends up being kidnapped, sold, raped and finally killed. Somehow, miscarrying at 17 weeks does not seem THAT bad. I am planning on watching other Verdi operas. They might bring me some catharsis.
Another thing of interest happened today. We were talking about doggie daycare for the yellow dog. We had a week long free trial. If we do it everyday, the spouse will not have to come at lunch to give her a potty break. Also, more importantly, she will be playing all day with other dogs and be a bit more restful when we get back home. She basically sleeps all day when we are at work and that's why she wakes up at 3:00 am to romp around and play. During this week trial she was always exhausted at the end of the day and she woke up at 6:30 am everyday.
The spouse and I were discussing whether or not to indulge in this luxury every day of the week. His position is that, as long as I am working, I should not feel guilty for this expense. He digressed and mentioned that being able to give a loving, comfortable life to a mixed breed mutt from a kill shelter made him feel good. And then he added that maybe it would feel even better if we were to adopt a child in need.
I call that progress.