THINKING TIME

I'm in a curious position of having too much time to think and not enough time to think and finding that I can't think and wanting to think about other things all at the same time...

Where do those oh-so familiar roads actually go to...?

Why can't I remember anything...?

So tired...

The weariness is a peculiar thing to me. I mean, I know that I was exhausted after several months of worry and hospital visiting, but when that was over it was replaced by the weariness connected with "having to do stuff" and the weariness of running around "actually dealing with stuff" and, of course, the weariness which comes from not sleeping, but that's nothing to the leaden-footed weariness that can suddenly strike you down out of the blue from actually grieving...

That's perhaps the most exhausting of all...

Meanwhile, when I took the Beloved to the station so that she could get back to work after her sterling services over the past few days in keeping me on my feet and on top of the whole ruddy administration of this bereavement thing, I realised that I was actually properly alone for the first time since the proverbial "it" had happened and that was a very odd feeling, especially as some work-related problems had cropped up in my absence and I had to go and deal with them before stirring myself for the long trek back to mum's flat once again to meet with my sister and head off to meet the solicitor...

But the tiredness itself can be exhausting.

I lie awake thinking that I really want to sleep and then look ahead to the next seven days and wonder whether there'll ever be any time to sleep at all, what with all that we've still got to do, and how little it seems that we've done already.

I'll have to get back to work, but there's still so many appointments to be made, so much paperwork to fill in, so many phone calls to make, as well as the thousand and one other little things to do involving the living of your own life, so it looks as if the only day I'll get to sleep during is the one day upon which I definitely mustn't sleep.

And even when I am back at my desk, the messages and phone calls come in dragging me away again to sign for things like releasing remains for scattering, or taking oaths of something or other, or just juggling the fallout from the latest calamity to befall those carefully made plans of ours.

Even the relaxing break we've booked for ourselves, that much needed "breath of fresh air" in a landscape far away enough to help give us some perspective will require me to get up early for breakfast after probably not sleeping all that well in an unfamiliar bed.

Sleep, my old friend, I do remember you.

Will you not come and pay me a visit sometime...?