Plodding on

describes how I’m feeling at the moment.
I *have* to keep plodding for two very good reasons: they are currently assigned the mammoth task of tidying their rooms.
I also have a confession to make: I’ve been blogging somewhere else:
I just found that I edit myself too much here, and this blog is about me, whereas I really miss talking about really boring stuff with G over dinner each night or coffee on the verandah…
I don’t expect anyone here to feel obligated to read the other blog, nor do I expect people to refrain from reading or commenting … but I warn you that it’s not edited for flow, swearing, boring stuff, strong emotion, or meaning for anyone else. It’s basically me talking to G using language we always use and talking about stuff that we know about … so somethings make no sense to other people, but that’s just how it is.
I’ll still blog here when I can. I just can’t at the moment. This blog is here waiting for me to start thinking about myself again.


The days are long and the nights are so hard

Is it wrong that I think every tick of the clock is counting down the minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, decades until I see him again? Actually don’t answer that.
Everyone seems so freaked out by my crying at random moments … when the words of a song catch me off-guard, when someone is unexpectedly kind to me, when I’m making a cuppa and go to make him one as well…. I can’t help it and what’s more, I don’t think I should try.

I am sad.

Pretty much all of the time.

I’m OK with that.

After all, its only been 38 days since I kissed him goodbye and sent him off for work.  I’m barely getting my head around the fact that he isn’t coming home.  My fairytale didn’t have a happy ending.  We didn’t live happily ever after.
Evenings are the worst – I have to remind myself not to listen for his car in the driveway at ~6:30pm.

I have to remind myself that its all me right now … there are no nights off duty. There is no-one else to pick up bread or milk on the way home.

And there sure as hell isn’t a warm familiar body to curl up to in bed each night.


The anally-retentive part of me keeps wanting to write these posts in order and I’ve begun and scrapped a post on the funeral about four times now.  It just wont come out yet.  I feel the need to write it down – I’m so scared of forgetting something, anything that I need to do it.

Just not now.