BLANK DAYS in QUOTIDIEN

Too much sadness, too many work hours, too much to do to write or respond. Busier than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

I have reached that point where I am impatient with my own sorrow and feelings, and figure that others are probably feeling much the same - so on what little time I have left, I can either be found reading a book, or paying bills.

After blow-out with daughter, things have been a little smoother on that front, though there are times when I still feel overwhelmed by the magnitude of things that requiring doing when I come home from a 12 hour shift. On those days, I warn Anne-Marie that I need to be given wide berth...oh...'and from now on, there will be no more hair-coloring in my absence.' Black. Black hair dye, rinsed out - not in the stainless steel sink, but in.the.shower. Not only that, but she let the slightly blue-black water sit in the bottom of the shower. Guess what Magic Eraser won't clean. But....her hair looks great.

New friends showed up to start up the 'House Project'. Painting first. Serious carpentry work next. Kitchen last. It's the part I'm most impatient to complete - but stuff is moving and I'm good with that. What they start, I finish after they're gone. This weekend, I believe we begin painting the bedroom while I work on the coat of Wall Hide (primer) for the cabinets and doors. I am grateful for the help - and the encouragement from their efforts on our behalf. I'm a blessed woman,

I can string more good days between my bad ones than I could a month ago. For that, I am grateful. Today, however = bad day.

I'm doing that thing again where my eyelids carefully (and inefficiently) stash away tears - a ploy that is easily upset by the slightest wind, a single note from a song, or any vehicular decision I must make (because that's NOT.MY.JOB).

I wonder at this type of sorrow. There doesn't appear to be any trigger other than my husband having died without any consideration for what he was leaving behind. I see men now (and I'm not proud of this) - and if they pop a sweat walking from their car to the door, or the effort of doing so leaves them breathing hard, I instantly think, "I wouldn't ever be with anyone like that...again."

I wonder at the energy-zap of still loving a person who is gone, without benefit of replenishing return of love's energy that existed in life. I sort of feel like an emotional stalker, in that way. I talk to him, still. A drop of sound and buckets of feelings fall into the void that he once filled. I send him mental 'Kodak Moments'. "Look Honey, we finally have apples!"

Apples. :tissues: