Options

I look at my feet down there on the floor, my hands resting innocently in my lap. Are they attached to my body? I move them. This is and isn't reassuring.

The daffodils are trying so hard to convince me.

The brightness of afternoon sun, grass blades glinting red, as I throw a stick for the black and white dog.

White wine.

All the people who care.

Plot

There seems to be so little to say. Or so much. The prevailing experience is of tiredness. Also unease. Anger. Crying has receded a little of late. I march about on the tops berating G for leaving me. Then I cry. Then I am on the lane towards home, and see people coming, and shift into another mode. I can't remember where I was before she died. This is what people mean by 'lost the plot' perhaps. It was about my mother, clearing her flat. This week the sale has gone through and my sister has had a house clearer to remove the very last items that no one else wanted. I have closed the gas and electricity and water accounts. The last time I saw G was just after the weekend we were at her flat, and G said to me 'you're grieving the loss of you Mum'. How strange life is. I was wearing my mother's cardigan, as I am now. G said 'is that your mother's cardigan?'

I went to see 'Inside Llewyn Davis' last night. I hated it. Of course I admire the look of it, the moody period feel, the set pieces and cameo performances, but in the end it was stone cold. The only thing that moved me was the cat. Oh, and the songs....

Telegram

Collapse. Half term. Rethink.

Opening

Waves

Daffodils, tulips, crocuses pushing up their grey-green shoots.
You can never hold back spring. To quote the immortal Tom Waits.
My sadness washes over me in waves as I listen to Glassworks by Philip Glass, newly burned for me by K who has been here for the weekend. So beautiful.
Fire in the woodburner. Still good and light at five o'clock, a pale blue sky with fluffy white clouds and some darker ones, scattered. L in London, phoning soon.
It has been very hard at work. Sometimes I am ok, or ok enough, sometimes I'm not. Sleep is a significant factor. It is really hard to gauge and predict my emotional capacity. What is alright for me, what is alright for my clients... Difficult decisions lie ahead.

First

Back to work tomorrow to start my phased return. Two mornings this week. A day and a half next, two days the week after. Then half term. Slowly, gently, patiently, kindly.

Daffodils slowly opening in a vase on the table. The first.

Comfort You