Every wonder why ... why the most beautiful songs have been written while the songwriter was either drunk from sorrow or floating in happiness ... why the most beautiful poetry was written when the poet was down on her luck with nothing to eat or was filled with ideas when she had finally fed her brain with food ... why the most beautiful paintings were created with the artist pouring his heart onto the canvas while in pain or is in a state of euphoria having found the perfect subject?
It may explain why I have not been writing much. Even my journals are collecting dust, disturbed only when my thoughts go back to ... and Bill is still dead. I am neither in pain, nor am I high on life. I now am simply comfortable living.
And Bill is still dead ... my mind knows that he is never coming back but sometimes I catch myself in a moment where I think it's not true and he is somewhere waiting to come home; because something so very wrong just cannot be true.
Yesterday I wrote at length to a dear friend about my day on Saturday ...
Yesterday was a tough day. After finishing with the work retreat, I found myself alone. I drove around trying to find someone at home so I could share a coffee and conversation with - no one home. So I stopped at our Wal-Mart to start my groceries. Walked out with only some new eye shadow to match my new outfit. Then went to the Mall to get ... I don't know what I was getting but walked out with my favourite author's new book and a movie. Really, as if my schedule has time to read and watch movies. Then I drove home.
The house was a mess and I knew my son was having people over for drinks so I got busy. Cleaned the house ... done, put the first coat of grout sealer ... done, ordered supper, ate alone ... done, grabbed the rake and cleaned a large part of the back yard ... done, and it is only 6:00 p.m. Went to bed, tired by the long work hours of the week and the physical work of cleaning. No sleep to be found. There were tears all afternoon ... I missed Bill something fierce.
I had a few moments with my son, when I was able to let it all out but it was not the same as before; there were tears but not heart-wrenching sobs.
A few days before this, I started questioning myself. I wondered if this new schedule of extreme busy at work and at play was somehow masking what I needed to feel ... leaving me with a false sense of being okay. I guess I got my answer this weekend. Even if I am busy, there will always be moments like these. I can be both - at the same time; it no longer needs to be either/or.
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