I’ve temporarily lost the ability to multitask. Um … I think that’s what I’ve lost. Anyway, until this funeral’s over, I can’t seem to do anything.
“Anything?” you ask. “Surely you could do something?”
Yes, I can watch TV. I can – painstakingly slowly – get ready for to fly interstate tomorrow. I can eat. I can sleep.
That’s about it.
Still, when you consider the last few weeks, here are the highlights (lowlights?):
- getting told you owe the Australian Taxation Office $16k
- having your psychologist tell you that he “can’t be expected” to remember your preferred name
- being pseudo-bereaved
- becoming un-pseudo-bereaved
- continuing to battle that damned sore throat which keeps coming and going
- being “poisoned” by a GP (OK, slight exaggeration; she didn’t do it on purpose – but those steroids really knocked me around)
- starting a five week break from your therapist
- becoming truly bereaved.
After that, it’s all sort of whited out. Hours of just sitting, frowning when someone opens a door and lets cold air in. I catch sight of my face in the mirror and it’s white and puffed up, which is weird, because I haven’t been crying.
Is it awful to say that I just want this funeral to be over? I feel like once it’s done, I’ll be able to move again, think again. Maybe I’m being selfish.
Instead of just counting my woes, I should also count the blessings of the last few weeks:
- I enjoyed time with my parents
- I had a courageous conversation with my psychologist
- the friends I’ve told about my bereavement have been hugely supportive
- my accountant and I figured out a plan to minimize the impact of that $16k debt to the ATO
- hey, I had the sense to book in to see my accountant before 30 June! Which was a very wise decision
- my one-year-old niece stood up and held her mother’s phone while we were talking the other day, the first time she’d achieved this feat of multitasking
- I can read. I hate it when I’m so depressed I can’t read.
OK, enough for now. Hope everyone’s well and I’ll catch up with you soon.