People ask me "How are you doing sweetie?" and I say "OK." It's the truth. I miss R Man, sadness wells up like a bubble sometimes, but dissipates. I am not distraught or inconsolable. Victorian writers had a saying "Sorrow is a deep well...." Typical of them to speak to sorrow, but not happiness. I suppose they thought of cheerfulness more as an attractive puddle. I think the saying means you can never sate your grief, the more you allow yourself to be sad, the sadder you feel. I know that's true for me anyway. I mope, therefore I am mopey.
Fortunately, our friends have surged around offering comfort and joy, including all my blog brotherhood, so thank you all, thank you very much. Every single comment has been a bright spot in a dim time and I appreciate them.
Also, Diane von Austinburg has been visiting since Monday, charming as always, even though the thrift stores we've visited (strictly as a form of grief therapy) seem to be suffering from quality deprivation. I'm sure crack houses have better yard sales.
I'm trying to focus on not being morose and I've decided to take a substantially long break from work. My days so far consist of sleeping late, taking naps and going to bed early with HGTV marathons squeezed in between. It's OK with me.
Our cat Saki is very attentive and insists on sitting on a pillow on my lap while I'm at the computer. It's sort of sweet and annoying in equal parts, especially since he sometimes insists on making editorial comments in the form of biting me.