I’m having a slightly weepy night tonight. Drinking wine and listening to Joanna Newsom. Rereading old blog posts from the last couple months, trying to coax myself into writing something fictional. Not having much luck. My mind keeps going back to the one last bottle of MGD in my fridge. I should just drink it. Make a ritual of it. Pour a little out in the garden. But it’s just another end, and I’m tired of things ending.
This day started out better. Jeremy and I went to yoga. This is something we’re doing on Saturday mornings now. Using the time to meditate and grieve while also doing something healthy and good. Then when we got home, I cleaned off my desk and read some of The Artist’s way. I did Morning Pages this morning for the first time in ages. It was good to do them again and I will do them again tomorrow.
But this all goes in stages. One minute you feel normal, almost, and functional, and the next you just want to sit on the floor and have a cry. Worry not, I’m in a chair right now. I havent descended to floor crying yet!
This is a strange time, and while I’m dealing and coping, I still feel a few steps behind, or just out of sync most days. I think that’s probably normal, but that doesn’t make it any easier.