I couldn’t decide whether I needed a bath, a cry, or a sandwich

Dear Delyara, That is the most accurate description of my evening. I hate those states because they make care harder. If I knew clearly what the problem was, I could move toward the right solution. But instead I was standing in the kitchen with a weird mixture of emptiness, tiredness, overstimulation, and low sadness, trying to identify the correct door to knock on. Food? Maybe. Silence? Also maybe. Hot water? Probably. Tears? Somewhere close, but not quite. In the end I made toast, ran the bath, and let whatever wanted to happen happen. Nothing dramatic did. But the uncertainty itself was exhausting.