I’ve trudged along in the past three weeks, since Jack’s passing, just ‘doing’ things. I’ve been helping a family (friends) who are moving house after 5 years of renting into their OWN home. But holy shit, when you have to clear out 5 and half years of living (2 adults + 3 young children) then there is some serious hard yakka to be done. It’s been great but also confronting.
My own home is so far from ‘liveable’. Today, as aI type this post – I am sitting cross legged on my computer chair. A rug over my knees and one around my shoulder. I am FREEZING !!! I have no money until tomorrow, no wood to burn in the fire, no fuel in my car to go steal wood from the side of one of our country roads.
I am still trying to be positive and build a business from scratch. Plugging away at night time. I am trying to start-up another small enterprise – A Handmade Market in my local town and it is such hard, hard work. It’s like pulling a cart up a the side of a steep hill on a rainy day along a boggy track. I know it’s just my “Asthma” talking, but it all seems too difficult.
Why do I keep trying?
Why can’t someone just give me permission to ‘give up’?
It would be such a relief to not have to keep trying each day.
I’m so tired of being a ‘Battler’.
Somebody, recently, described me as vivacious. Are you shitting me? Vivacious? I am anti-vivacious!!! I can’t be fucked putting on makeup or ‘doing’ my hair. I live in one pair of tracksuit pants, black socks and various t-shirts with a grotty old oversized/ill fitting windcheater jacket pulled over the top of it all. I don’t care what I look like. Noone else does either. Certainly not men. God forbid that they do look in my direction. It would be tantamount to Perseus’ gaze falling on Medusa.
But perhaps I’m just feeling sorry for myself.
Maybe in a week or month or year, I will revisit this post and be embarrassed by my outburst.
I don’t know anymore. I’m cold, poor and lonely.
Pity party at Pia’s.
You gotta love alliteration, if nothing else!