The Grind

I’m half way through working 4 split shifts in a row, that’s 4 days of 10am ‘till 8 or 9 pm at work with maybe an hour or two break in between lunch and dinner. It’s tiring, physically but also mentally. Try being bright and cheerful for 10 or 11 hours straight, 4 days in a row, it’s hard, particularly now. Particularly when a couple come in and mention that they’ve been married 50 years. That’s something I’ll never with HIM, we won’t grow old together. That shook me up, and I feel bad because it’s not like this couple meant anything by the comment, they were just passing on happy news.

A good friend mentioned this kind of problem in an e-mail recently, that there is no way I can stay safe from hearing or witnessing situations that I will find heartbreaking or depressing. And he’s right, short of becoming a shut in I’ll have to find a way of dealing with it.

Speaking of “dealing with it” I did decide to take up our car insurance company’s option of grief counseling. Three weeks and two phone messages later I got a message on my answering machine that I needed my family Doctor to refer me to someone, preferably who specializes in grief counseling and that maybe OHIP would cover it….I’m assuming if OHIP doesn’t then the insurance company will but that wasn’t mentioned. So I guess the days of bending over backwards for the grieving widow are over with on that front. It kind of pisses me off. Why wouldn’t they have a list of grief counselors already on file for different areas? I’m hoping what kind of passes as my “family Doctor “ can do this over the phone, if not I’ll have to make an appointment for several months down the road and hope the 6 month time frame stipulated by the insurance company doesn’t pass. Anyhow, I’ll follow through on this and let you know how it goes.

Also, my parents are heading over for another visit. My Dad’s cousin is celebrating his 90^th birthday next weekend about 2 hours from here. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with them? The house is pretty much done as far as organizing/re-arranging and I’m not ready to tackle the things we have stored at the barn. So….? Sit around and have my parents talk about my future?

Right, because I’m not stressed about that already. And I will be dealing with it, but they are very big on me going back to school, taking a Microsoft Suite course that they feel will set me up for working in an office. I have nothing against the idea of office work, in the right office, but the course is two thousand dollars, and I’m not sure that’s an effective use of the money….Actually, I think I’ve already bitched and blogged about this before?

Anyhow, my parents are visiting and I’m already completely stressed out about it. They’re well meaning, but there’s nothing they can help me with right now.

I’m trying to think of something positive right now, instead of all this doom and gloom….

…Wanna hear about the last time I went to the gym? Yeah, things are conspiring to keep me from working out.

evil dwells here too

So I go to the gym, all motivated and shit to work out. Get to the gym and lock my water bottle in my locker, which has the keys to the locker attached to it. This means I’ve also locked up my house keys. Go to the front desk and ask K for the spare, there are about 50 spare keys, none of them for my locker…K calls C who thinks she might know where the spares are she’ll be there asap, which was only an hour before an appointment I had to make. Completely stressed I decided to hop on the treadmill while I waited, 10 minutes in my bra strap breaks….sigh….I’m a 38 D, jogging without maximum support is kind of a no-go. K tried to fix it for me, while we talked about possibly breaking into, or kicking down C’s office door to find that spare key. She couldn’t get the strap fixed so I when to the bathroom to fix it myself and realized my work out short, Lululemon work out shorts, give me massive camel-toe…ACK!!!! 

Three strikes, I’m DONE!

Happily K’s husband dropped by and managed to MacGyver the locker with a coat hanger. I’m with him when the zombie apocalypse happens.

All’s well that ends well, ‘tho I’m never buying another pair of Lulu work out shorts again.

Inappropriate Quote of the day:

 “If it’s got tits, a keyboard or hydraulic suspension it’s going to be complicated.”

Thank you F for passing this along. I can’t argue with it, ‘tho I think for my own purposes I’m changing it to “if it’s got tits, a dick, a keyboard or hydraulic suspension it’s going to be complicated”.

“I’m siiiiick!” That’s what I’d whine to HIM when he got home from work. Then he’d ask what I’d want for dinner and I’d say “I don’t knowwww”. Then HE’d run through his repertoire of comfort foods and, despite a long day and a long drive, he’d get down the business making me something like homemade mac and cheese.

‘Course, none of that will be happening….being sick sucks, being sick without someone to whine to a little bit and make you homemade mac and cheese really sucks.

I hate being sick, I've got zero energy. I don't feel like doing anything, but I don't feel like doing nothing either.

The Rules

I think it’s time to do a rundown on them and see how I’m doing.

-         NO more cats. I’ve now driven by a few “free kittens” signs and have not fallen to temptation, I think we’re clear of that one.

-         NO tattoos for 10 months, incase I wanted to go that “”commemorative” route. See post below.

-         NO neck tattoos EVER. No problem.

-         NO puppies, P thought her Jack Russell might be in the family way with a Beagle. P’s dog wasn’t preggers, bullet dodged.

-         NO Face Book for 36 hours (I had a wild compulsion to post “Due to the upcoming zombie apocalypse we have decided on cremation”.) I never posted it and am sporaticaly back on FB, mainly to answer PMs or things people have posted to me.

-         No big changes of address, like moving to Saudi Arabia. Saudi Arabia, no problem…Tempted by Belgium ‘tho.

-         Don’t be afraid to get counseling/therapy. I phoned and left a message about getting some.

-         No men for at least a year. I still laugh at the idea.

-         Set alarm for a reasonable hour and get out of bed within 20 min of it going off. I’ve been waking up before my alarm goes off. I’ll be a happy girl the day I over-sleep.

-         No slopping around the house in pjs all day. Put on a bra, and get dressed. I do, and sometimes it’s even fancy gitch.

-         Breakfast, daily, before 10am. A bit of a problem here, my eating habits are pretty much in the garbage and breakfasts aren’t really happening.

-         Basic hygiene is mandatory, makeup is not. I put on a little bit of makeup for work the other day, I think that’s a good sign.

-         Check garden daily, weed and water as needed. My veggies and potted plants are well attended, the front garden not so much, It’s the one that contains the roses HE was waiting to bloom.

-         Shave legs every 3 days. More like “Nick my legs every 3 days”.

-         No assault charges. In fact lets change that to “No criminal charges”, and so far, so good.

Ok, so I’m doing pretty good.

I need to get my eating back on track. BHD I was eating pretty healthy but since cooking depresses me and I hate my kitchen to begin with I haven’t really been motivated to do much.

Also need to weed that front garden, its more weeds than visible flowers right now.

Problem is, most of those rules were from when I was in survival mode, I think I’m past that now? I mean they’re good rules to keep following but I’m past the point of seeing nothing but HIS death. I need to figure out my life.

 I need some rules on my finances. I’m too tempted to do retail therapy, part of me is saying “fuck it, HE died, you deserve to buy what you want”. Another part of me is well aware I need to be very careful/smart with what money there is to make sure I’ll be ok down the road. I’ll need to set some goals/deadlines about looking for more/better work, and different courses I can take…makes cleaning out the Basement of Doom seem fun filled by comparison.

Tattoo You

M’s husband, CHF, has always been heavily into music, he plays drums, to this day, to his neighbors delight I’m sure. Anyhow, there’s always music playing at their place and he usually has great taste…except that William Shatner CD he insists on playing at least once every time I visit….

Anyhow, he played some Arcade Fire while I was up, lent me the “Funeral” CD (ya, I know, bad coincidence) to listen to and when I got home from the cottage I bought it off iTunes. The cover art has given me an idea for my “widow’s tattoo”. (Oh come on, like there was ever any doubt I was going to get one?!?!?...pffft….please…)

Before it happened I was juggling the idea of getting another one, so it’s not so much a “widow’s tat”, I just like the term and am running with it. Anyways, a few years ago I found a quote I loved, which seems very, very appropriate now. But I was just mulling it over, didn’t know where to have it placed and what should surround the quote, if anything. Both the feathers and the scrolls in the album cover art tie in well with HIS life, I just need to spiff up the art work, it’s too primitive as is.

Now I’ve got an idea to base it from. And based on the rule “no tats for 10 months”, I’ve got 8 months to figure out the artwork, placement on my body and find a tat artist who can pull it off. And most importantly decide if I really want it done. But I think I do, I was thinking of doing it before he died anyhow.  

Also following the rule “no neck tats EVER”, it won’t be on my neck. I’d like to have it on my upper back, nice piece of virgin canvas there, but you pay a lot of money for tats and on the back and I’ll never see it. (And I don’t care if anybody else sees it, but I want to). My upper arm’s an option, but I don’t know if I’m the kind of girl who can pull that off without looking “butch”….plus my Mom might kill me.

My leg’s another option, but there’s the Mom issue again, and let’s face it, she’s 71 and has had enough to get upset about lately.

I’m seriously considering my rib cage, I can see it, only those I want to show will be able to, and it’s also a nice firm piece of virgin canvas….problem is it’s next door neighbours to my breasts, which look good in the right bra but at 42 yrs old and 38D they are a little worse for wear…stupid gravity. I don’t want to get a great tat that’s half covered by bra strapping when I look at it, or that looks great if it weren’t for the saggy breasts right beside. I mean, I earned my wrinkles, I don’t have any issue with them, but saggy breasts are just depressing.

Again, it’s a location problem…and what really sucks is that BHD I would have told HIM all of the above and HE would have come up with a great suggestion, and helped me with the artwork. I guess I’ll just do an opinion poll with a few close friends.

Friends don’t let friends get bad tattoos.

In other news: My new bedroom furniture arrived, I like it as much in my room as I liked it in the store. My cloths are all in one room now, I just have to get used to which drawers I put them in. And I hung some pictures up, badly, but their up.

The room feels like mine, well, mine and the cats. For whatever reason they’re spending more time there then they did in our room, even BHD? Anyways, I like my room.

It’s a start.

Random Updates



Evil dwells here



I officially hate IKEA. Two phone calls to their customer service dept, 2 trips to different stores in town, and $25 in light bulbs (one was an expensive LED) that don’t fucking work. Of course to open the packing of these light bulbs you pretty much have to destroy the packaging so returning them isn’t really an option. “Swedish by design” has taken on a new meaning.

Luckily I have CH who has offered to pick some up for me.

The last 2 nights I’ve actually slept not too bad. Actually It’s not the sleeping, it’s the falling asleep that’s the problem and last night it went pretty good.

I’m still waiting on my new dressers to be delivered; I’m hoping it’ll happen this Saturday. Right now my cloths are in 3 dressers in 2 different rooms and getting dressed is a pain in the ass. I keep forgetting which cloths are in which dresser and wander from room to room trying to get myself together. If there was anyone around to see me it would be embarrassing.

The “thank you” cards are written and mailed off. I’ll admit a lot of them said pretty much the same thing but a few were really hard to write.

Writing HIS boss was the hardest. I’d only met OL once before, a big intimidating bear of a man, Russian to boot. HE really respected OL and, other than the commute, really loved his job; apparently OL had a lot of respect for HIM too. At the funeral I was surprised to see 2 of HIS former employers at the funeral; I hadn’t remembered to call them. OL did. He got HIS resume out and phoned them, the competition, I hate to say it but I was surprised by that thoughtfulness. He also “passed the hat” at work, but more importantly had a photo of HIM, taken at a job site, printed for me and had everyone sign the back of it. It’s probably the last photo taken of HIM, and looks exactly as I want to remember HIM, slightly scruffy but very happy. HIS huge grin on his face. I’ve had the photo and back copied for my parents and HIS family.

How do you really thank someone for that kind of caring?

I haven’t been to the gym in weeks, only been there twice since it happened. Part of it’s that even ‘tho I’m not a morning person, I like to hit the gym early in the morning, and because of sleep issues that’s a problem. The other reason is that going to the gym is like a habit, and I’m out of the habit with going. Also, despite the fact I’ve been eating crap I’ve lost weight, only 6 pounds but still. I do worry its muscle weight but the other part of me’s saying “you lost 6 pounds, you don’t need to go to the gym yet”….which at this point is stupid because I know better. It’s not about my weight, its how I look and feel. And because of smoking too much, sleeping too little and eating crap I feel like a slug….despite the fact a number of people have told me that I look great….what can I say, death becomes me?

Anyhow, C to the rescue! This Monday I’m to show up at the gym and sweat, or she’ll be showing up at my door.

The other major part of our former life that needs attention is the horses. I need to go out there more, ride, or just throw them carrots. I feel like a negligent owner. Don’t get me wrong, their very well taken care of. Between the farm owner, D, and another boarder who dotes on both of them they’re not suffering from food, water or being spoiled. But they are my responsibility and I need to step up.

Our house is in not bad order. The 14 boxes of books were donated to the Cerebral Palsey Foundation. CH did offer to sell them for me on Kijiji but it just seemed like such a burden, and a lot of work, for what would be very little money in the end. So my dinning room needs a bit of a clean up but all those boxes are gone!

The living room’s good.

My new bedroom’s barren and awaiting new furniture.

Our old bedroom’s in good shape, I just need to move the old dressers out once they’re emptied of my cloths.

The sewing room’s still a problem child ‘tho. It was in good shape for about 36 hours then I started moving stuff between the two bedrooms and I’m still sorting out what should go where. I think that’ll be my job for this weekend.

So things are falling into place on that front.

It’s actually a bit scary, I’ve been using sorting out our house as a huge distraction and once it’s done I’ll have to tackle some bigger, scary issues.

I can’t continue this life indefinitely. HE was the main wage earner, and I need to find another job. Or, as my parents want me to do, go back to school and start a career….at 42 years old.

There is some money attached to HIS death, through our car insurance, so I could go back to school for a year, keep a part time job and survive.

I just don’t know what to do, what my best bet is. What I’d like to do is “just be” for the next year. Get used to this. Problem is that it’ll eat into a fair bit of the money and by next fall, when I know what I want to do, I might not be able to afford tuition.

…mind you, it’s mid-Aug now, it’s unlikely I could enroll for this fall anyways for whatever hastily made “career” I decide on now.

Anyhow, I guess that’s my next big stress, finances and how to successfully live my life independently. I have these really optimistic moments where I think it’s exciting to overhaul my life, that’s always followed by guilt ‘tho. And mostly the idea just scares me. There seems to be such a small margin for error.

I guess for now, getting another or better job to cover the bills, being careful with the money and look into maybe going back to school in 2013.

Mentally I’m still pretty fractured. One minute I’ll be fine, the next not so much. My idiot co-worker, Z, had me in tears last Friday, with the place packed. I was having a bad day emotionally and she started in on some bullshit about how she “has a smile on my face for me, not anyone else, because it makes me feel good, blah, blah, blah”. Put a smile on my face?! I’m TRYING!!! Do you think I want to be this fucked up, at work no less?!?!?!?! And frankly putting a smile on my face to make me feel better completely underestimates how deeply I’m hurting. My husband died, not my goldfish.

Of course I said none of the above to Z and bolted to the bathroom, crying, in front of a packed restaurant. Embarrassing and un-professional. Thanks Z… I just want to deck her, which has added another rule to the list: No assault charges.

That might be a tough one.

I guess that’s pretty much the rundown on things, for better or worse….or maybe it’s more accurate to say “the better and the worse”.

In any case I’m getting through, day by day and will continue to get though, day by day, because I don’t have much choice…. or excuse since I’ve made it this far.

Location, location, location

I slept in my “new” bedroom last night. I didn’t think it would be easy-peasy but I didn’t expect it to be as emotional as it was either.

Part of it might be that the room, other than the bed, is empty, my new dressers get delivered next week, a barren room isn’t exactly cheerful or restful. But it was way worse than an empty room, it was me trying to move on (maybe before I’m ready?), I feel like I’m somehow betraying HIM by moving to a different room. It doesn’t help that I can see the stairs from the bed and I kept imagining (expecting?) HIM walking up them and saying “Why you sleeping in there Hon?” I guess that’s the biggest problem, part of me is still expecting HIM to come home.

I don’t know how to get rid of that.

Waking up is a bit better. In our room I’d wake up and it would slowly dawn on me while getting up that HE was dead, the realization comes when I open my eyes now, I think that’s for the better.

D said that once my furniture arrives and I make the room my own I’ll probably feel better, but I’m not sure about that. The new furniture is like everything else, Oliver, the washer and dryer, all things I could get excited about except they came at such a high cost.

I’d like to find things to get excited about that are unrelated/attached to HIS death, but everything seems to be related to it, or because of it, or worse, something I really want to tell him about.

I'm not lonely, good friends abound, but there’s no way to describe how much I fucking miss him.

Friendship, A Rant

This whole experience continues to separate the wheat from the chafe as far as friends are concerned. Most of its wheat, but some chafe has come from some unexpected places.

One friend I’ve known longer than P has managed to be put on the “not” list.

We met though our involvement of horses, became friends and hung out.

Over the last few years I had begun to notice that the 2 of us getting together generally circulated around her needing to vent or talk about a problem she was having. Whenever I tried to plan something it never really worked out, but if she had something big or upsetting going on we’d get together. This would have been fine and what friendships are for, if being a supportive friend was reciprocated on her part. It’s not that she didn’t care to hear about my life or any problems, it’s just that hers where more important, always.

After I realized this I stopped investing a lot in our friendship.

After HE died she sent her husband over with some food (she was on a business trip), she attended the funeral, and sent me a brief FB PM afterwards asking how I was, that we should get together, and was there anything I needed. I replied with generalities and a request to borrow a series of DVDs she had.

I heard nothing back.

That was over 5 weeks ago. I know from FB she hasn’t fallen off the face of the earth or met with some disaster, I also know that her high-pressure job keeps her insanely busy, but still….

So the other day I PMed her to ask if she wanted a few things back that she had lent us, part of the purge. The reply I got said yes, that we should get together and how was I doing?

…You want to know how I’m doing? Maybe try phoning me to find out?! Novel idea I know. And it’s not even the casual FB question that pisses me off, it’s that if you really care why did I have to contact you for you to ask?

I can’t exactly remember what I replied back, it was along the lines of dropping the stuff off because, frankly, if you want to know how I’m doing, seriously, pick up the fucking phone.

And she did. I got home from work Friday night and there was a phone message from her asking if I was free Saturday so we could hang out. It was late so I phoned Saturday morning, left a message. I still haven’t heard back from her.

Either care, or fuck off!

I don’t need this kind of inconsistency, aka bullshit, in my life.

Then there’s the women who was raised wrong and is passing the trait onto her kids.

We’ve also know the family longer than P, and met because we were all involved in the same horse sport. One of her sons helped HIM get ready for each competition, groomed his horse, helped him on the field etc.

During the funeral the son asked if he could have specific clothing that HE wore during competition as son was now competing himself. I thought that was a really nice idea, HE would have liked that. So I sent the cloths off to them.

A few weeks later it occurred to me that I hadn’t hear anything from them as to whether they received the package so I phoned. Yes, they had received the package… Ummmm…

Ok, I was just phoning to make sure since I hadn’t heard from you or son. Yep, we got it, I thought it would be too big but it fits ok since he’s so tall. Ok, well that’s good, like I said, I just wanted to phone to make sure you got it since I hadn’t heard from any of you about it. No, no, we got it.

Raise your hand if you know what I’m fishing for and what’s missing from this conversation.

Yep, that’s right, a Thank You.

After going around 3 or 4 times I did get a brief thank you and the excuse that she wasn’t sure if they had our phone number…yes, I’m sure it just up and disappeared on you. (Never mind we have about 10 friends in common that could supply a phone number, never mind the phone book, Face Book, and e-mail). So I just gifted something of my dead husband’s to a family that can’t even think to thank me without a lot of prodding….In retrospect I would have rather burned the clothing than give it to such graceless fuckwits.

Both of the above is the kind of weird bullshit us widows don’t need. We have enough to deal with and having other people create more is just not appreciated.

Rant Over!

I guess it’s for the best, maybe if my list of friends shortens I’ll be able to tackle sending out Christmas cards for the first time ever.

And for every fuckwit I’ve got others that are wonderful, both near and far.

D, CH and R came over today and helped me switch beds and re-organize bedrooms. No small feat since one of them is forged steel and even ‘tho it comes apart in 3 pieces those pieces are heavy.
I tried to keep franticly busy and not think too hard about what I was doing.

Afterwards CH and I hit a fabric store in another of my misdirected ideas that making my own curtains is cheaper than buying them…yeah, it never works out that way. I could have picked something up cheaper at IKEA but oh no, I have to be creative and different!

…sigh….

Speaking of IKEA, remember my nice IKEA bedside lamp purchase? Yeah, well it looks like it might need a specific IKEA fucking light bulb?!?!?!...which I did not purchase.

I mean how was I to know? There were bins of light bulbs in the lighting section but nowhere in the store or on the lamps did it say “BUY YOUR LIGHT BULBS HERE OR YOU’RE SCREWED”. The nearest IKEA’s an hour away, 2 hours round-trip, and will cost me $30 in gas… for a lamp that cost me $9.99.

I really hope I’m wrong about this, whoever answer’s the IKEA customer help line better hope I’m wrong about this.
Anyways, I'm sleeping in my new bedside lamp-less bedroom tonight. I don't expect to sleep like a baby or anything, but I'm hoping it'll help.

The Breakup

Dear Coffee,

Since HE introduced us I’ve really enjoyed our flirtation over the past 4 months, I really have! But since HE’s gone I've come to rely on you too much. I love our warm, sweet time together but afterwards I just crave more of you, and it feels inappropriate and slightly stalker-ish. When you’re gone I’m left feeling jittery and tense and it’s not a healthy place for me to be.

Maybe we can still meet occasionally, as friends, but our affair has to end.

Please believe that it’s me, not you.

Dear Food at Work

I have a terrible confession to make.

I’ve been using you.

I feel really guilty about this, you’ve always been there for me, especially over the last 2 months, but ultimately you’re not good for me. I feel great with you, but it’ll end badly for us as all illicit affairs do.

If it wasn’t for your deep fried crispiness maybe we could continue, but I love that naughty side of you and it’s too hard to resist.

Please don’t be upset when I don’t acknowledge you at work, this needs to be a clean break.

Please believe that it’s me, not you.

Dear Cigarettes,

We need to talk…

Cottage Life, my life, not the magazine

Imagine having one of these do a fly-by! The juvenile
flew close enough to us that we could hear the
"fooop, foop" of his wings

The cottage was pretty good overall. I swam, I kayaked, I ate, I drank, I gave someone a windsurfing lesson (great job L!!), I buzzed around the bay on a sea-doo (wicked fun!).

M and I hung out a lot. Including kayaking to Dead Head Bay where she showed me the resident baled eagles (and they did not disappoint in showing themselves off). I also had a few good conversations with M and my parents that helped me.

Just about everyone I know up there I’ve known since birth, or known since their birth. M’s parents bought their property 2 over from ours at the same time, (about 42 years ago) and back in the day everybody was building their own cottages themselves. For bigger projects neighbors came over to help and M and I would end up in the same playpen together while roof trusses were set up etc. M went on to marry the boy next door to our cottage, and now has 2 girls of her own. I’m not kidding when I say I’ve know her all my life, ditto with her parents, brother and family that populates our end of the bay. It’s my cottage family, and I love my cottage family. Particularly now, things have changed horribly in my life but they still treat me the same.

This however opened up some pretty big emotional questions for me.

Because of our location (usually on the wrong side of the big city and it’s hideous traffic), the horses and our horse hobbies, my job that entailed working weekends, and HIM not being really big on swimming/water sports we haven’t made it up there a whole lot.

But I really love it up there and was always aware I missed going up there more.

The question of what was going to happen with the cottage came up last year, my parents getting older and cottages, by their nature, needing constant maintenance. Because of our life it was decided the cottage would be sold. But now that it’s just my life I’m wondering if I want that to happen, or can bare to have that happen. It would have been bearable with HIM around…

If I tried to hang on to it, it would mean a radical change in my life, at the very least a move to the right side of the big city, closer to really good friends, further away from the ones I have here. I’m not even sure if I can afford to keep the cottage, never mind the constant maintenance. If I was to straight out inherit the cottage I would have to pay a “luxury tax” of half it’s worth, that’s over $100 000.00. (And here’s the Rant De Jour: My parents worked their asses off to afford the cottage, never mind building it, and the government somehow deems it necessary to tax their hard work?!?!?!?)

And just to be clear I don’t have that kind of money.

There are some other ways I can be given the cottage, but it’s still costly, and then there’s the question of being able to maintain it, property taxes, utilities etc. So add to the list of “Sucky Crap I have To Deal With” is talking to my parents about possibly hanging on to the cottage. I’m not sure if it’s realistic and I guess that’s the first thing to be decided....who knew the Symphony of Suck also toured?!

But overall the cottage was good, great infact, all of the above was kind of like an after shock realization while driving home.

It helped that I did a little shopping on my way back, a few things for my “new bedroom” at IKEA, a few small things for friends, and a stop at my fav European deli.

Unfortunately, I didn’t sleep any better at the cottage than I do here at home, which blows my switching bedrooms theory right up, but at least now I’ll be sleep deprived with a nice bedside lamp.

Run Rabbit Run

I’m heading up to the cottage on Saturday for 4 days. Yes, I’m running away, but only a little bit. My parents and M will be up there and it’ll either be a nice break or a disaster. My parents built the cottage while I was a baby so I’ve got a life-long history of being up there, more memories of being up there without HIM than with HIM. I hope that helps or at least makes being up there bearable. I am worried that being up there will set me off or I’ll be the subject of too many sympathetic looks….or worse, hugs.  

Worst case scenario I come home early.

Either way I have to get out of here for awhile. I could wax poetic about the ghosts of our marriage haunting the very walls I’m surrounded by, which is pretty much the truth, but I’m not really into poetry.

Anyways I have to get out of here and the cottage seems like a safe choice.

Also, I posted awhile ago about the pink-shirt wearing funeral attendee and how I thought it might be her “go to outfit” for nights out.

I win; it is her go to outfit.

A mutual FB friend posted pix of the two of them out at a bar last weekend, pink shirt included. I guess this solidifies my suspicion that she did think HIS funeral was a social event.

I seriously want to send her an etiquette book… I’ll have to see what I can find at Chapters.

Thursday, it’s the new Monday

It’s taken me 5 weeks to realize Thursdays are a very bad day for me. I wake up in a bad mood and am generally about 3 minutes away from tears for most of it. It makes sense, HE died on a Wednesday night but I wasn’t notified until 3:15am Thursday morning, which was the beginning of the worst day of my life. 

Every Thursday since has been awful. It’s not conscious on my part, or wasn’t until I realized it and the reason why this morning. I’m not sure if there’s any way to prepare for Thursdays, or make them better/easier somehow, I guess it’s just another thing I’ll have to get used to.