Busy….busy……must keep busy. Have a weekend to spare, must fill it. Have a day to spare, what can I do? Have an hour to spare, there’s a job to be done. It’s safe to say that since being in this new life, I’ve kept busy. So busy, I crawl into bed at night so exhausted that even my toe nails ache. I sleep well, every single night. I wake feeling refreshed but quickly remembering that he’s dead….and then stomach punch. So I get up and do it all over again. Busy…..busy…….must keep busy.
Why I wonder? Why this obsession with being so god damn busy? It’s not like I don’t like my own company because that never really bothered me. Is it because I am now so aware that life can change in a nano-second? Cramming in everything humanly possible before I too kick the bucket. Is it because I’m a control freak? If I just get everything in order and perfect and just so…… my problems won’t be as big and I’ll be in control of at least something. Is it because I’m scared that if I stop and do nothing, my life will be meaningless? Is it because I am scared that if I stop and do nothing the empty space around me, remains empty, since he’s no longer next to me, shifting atoms and particles with his manly stance?
Positive…..positive…..must keep positive. Busy and positive, it’s a recipe for widow burn out. But at the time of writing I’m still going. I’ve not burnt out yet and I’m slowly realising how exhausting it is being positive. I’ve always been terrified that if I’m miserable it will be too exhausting and I won’t be able to cope if I give in to that demon, knocking at my door. Starting to realise that actually, perhaps it’s the other way round. Perhaps it’s the misery demon I need to let in and the positive monster I needs to go on vacation.
Alas, I’m still sat here, positive is home. Misery still parked up, just outside.