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....