I'd planned on beginning a long-term project today, of which I have a number to choose from:
- sand and repaint end table
- sand and repaint Theseus's nightstand
- smooth and repaint walls in guest bathroom
- yard work
- yard work
- yard work
I decided instead to give myself a day to adjust to the persistent silence in the house, rather than rush to mask it. So far I've managed only to take a shower and heat up a frozen Healthy Choice. The rest of the day I've spent on the couch, watching Season 5 of The Office on my laptop and sulking.
- sand and repaint end table
- sand and repaint Theseus's nightstand
- smooth and repaint walls in guest bathroom
- yard work
- yard work
- yard work
I decided instead to give myself a day to adjust to the persistent silence in the house, rather than rush to mask it. So far I've managed only to take a shower and heat up a frozen Healthy Choice. The rest of the day I've spent on the couch, watching Season 5 of The Office on my laptop and sulking.
Part of me keeps looking out at the beautiful day beyond my living room - the sky is the perfect shade of blue and the grass looks warm and inviting - and wondering if I should get some shoes on and go to the hardware store for supplies. I'm squandering an afternoon reimagining a piece of thrift-store furniture or clearing vines along the lake. And the sun would feel good on my shoulders and I'd forget, for a few moments, that I'll be alone here for the next year.
But then that's it - a larder part of me is not ready to be happy yet. It's not like he died, but he only left yesterday, and I'm still mourning the loss of his form in bed next to me, the smell of his coffee in the kitchen, his shoulder to snuggle against.
Before he left, he hid a note in the cereal cabinet, expressing joy that I'd "discovered the kitchen" (I'm not much of a cook). I found this note today and smiled through tears. I miss him so much my heart hurts.
I have to go back to work tomorrow, so I won't be able to wear away the day in silent sadness. Maybe I'll pick up the sand paper and wood filler on my way home. Until then I have 4 more discs of The Office to get through.
But then that's it - a larder part of me is not ready to be happy yet. It's not like he died, but he only left yesterday, and I'm still mourning the loss of his form in bed next to me, the smell of his coffee in the kitchen, his shoulder to snuggle against.
Before he left, he hid a note in the cereal cabinet, expressing joy that I'd "discovered the kitchen" (I'm not much of a cook). I found this note today and smiled through tears. I miss him so much my heart hurts.
I have to go back to work tomorrow, so I won't be able to wear away the day in silent sadness. Maybe I'll pick up the sand paper and wood filler on my way home. Until then I have 4 more discs of The Office to get through.
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