My posting has been fewer and farther between than when I began, I know. And I am also retro-posting sometimes because I have to. I start writing posts just to get a few thoughts out so that I can later come back and more fully vet those thoughts and make them into something worthy of sharing with an audience. My job is very demanding, and sometimes I have little capacity for anything more than staring at the wall when I get home, or maybe lying in bed scrolling mindlessly through my phone. Most evenings are like that, actually. I am so drained by the time I give everything I have to my work that I can hardly be bothered to even speak to another human being for the evening. That is one of the parts of grief that people don’t talk about all that much, or at least that I perceive fails to land on the radar of the average person. That is, the utter exhaustion that accompanies simply doing the bare minimum to get by is one of the most unexpected and crippling side effects of the grief process.
Everything is daunting. I have to wash my hair again today? I just washed it last week!
Everything is exhausting. Whew, I just washed three whole glasses. Plus a spoon. I should reward myself with a five hour nap.
Everything is draining. For the love of all that is holy, stop looking at me with your eyes and smiling at me so I have to smile back at you and say hello. Can’t you tell I’m worn out? LEAVE ME ALONE.
Everything is overwhelming. I just paid a bill and a half. I think I’ll sob for a while now.
Everything is panic-inducing. Did I seriously just commit to spending time with my friend who cares about me? What was I thinking? How the hell do I get out of this?!
You slog through every day like you’re carrying a beagle mutt under each arm with a toddler wrapped around each leg while you wear a pimp necklace crafted from the heaviest element in the universe. See? Even my metaphors are weak and bizarre because my brain is so addled with the grief process that I can’t produce anything better than that.
Today would have been the five year anniversary of me quitting smoking, except I didn’t fully quit because I smoked on Saturday. I think I’m still counting it as a victory, however, because I hadn’t smoked until that point and I haven’t since. I don’t anticipate starting again, though I will admit that it has more appeal now than it has over the past five years. I’m not entirely sure how that works – watch your parent die an agonizing death from a habit that you gave up half a decade ago and suddenly you are compelled to pick it back up? Seems absurd. Humans are stupid.