Unfortunately, my year-end malaise has not abated and has instead morphed into year-beginning malaise. I stared blankly at the note on my to-do list that said to proof and post yesterday’s drabble, opened Flickr to find an image, searched a couple things, and decided that I felt more like doing literally anything else.

I’m kind of an emotional being. ‘Kind of,’ in this context, is a way of saying ‘very extremely so much oh my god will somebody please help me contain all of these emotions because I’m clearly not doing a good enough job of it myself.’ So instead of proofing and posting this drabble last night, I went to play Undertale because I appreciated that some pixel-art skeletons wanted to make puns and tell me that I’m a kind person.

I have a big problem with balancing my own mental health and my work ethic. I don’t make a lot of money as a freelance writer. Any moment I’m not writing is a moment when I’m losing potential money. So despite the fact that I do, in fact, feel guilty about not sticking to my own arbitrary schedule (a self-imposed schedule for work I do not get paid for, no less), I’m turning my nose up and saying, “Nope, nope, sometimes taking care of myself is more important.”

(It is more important. The world will keep on turning if I do not post a drabble on time. Your mental health is important, my mental health is important, please take care of yourself better than I do.)

Anyway, here’s a drabble.

ULULATE

(Noun: From Latin ululationem for “a howling or wailing”)

To howl or wail as an expression of extreme emotion, typically grief.

Though the girl with the dark hair doesn’t speak the same language as Theresa, she takes an offered cracker and returns a toothy grin. In time, they share words—colors, names, objects—and though Theresa never quite gets the hang of Maria’s rolling r’s and breathy j’s, they talk around the obstacles enough to find friendship.

Until high school, when Theresa is moving to another state and Maria is staying behind. They lace their fingers together, and neither of them can find the correct common words. Instead, they cry, biting back the wrong words and speaking with meaning, not language.