Plugging on slowly and painfully. I haven’t been able to write a to-do list, the thought made me too anxious, even though I knew it would help once it was done. Weeza helped me, it’s written (will be added to, of course) and she made me do the most urgent thing that had been top of the list for some time and I’d been ignoring. I’ve had to apologise profusely and ask for help in getting the work done – which is fine, I’ve never had a problem with acknowledging I was in the wrong, but I didn’t want to get on with the work. The die is cast now. The deadline is the end of this month, but there’s a lot to do first.
I’ve also been to see someone about getting a valuation of the house contents. Since it’s all half mine anyway, I’m the sole inheritor and there’s no duty payable until I die, this is not easy to take on the chin, but there isn’t an alternative. I’m jolly well going to spend the rest of my life giving away all I own to my family and documenting it, or else selling things and spending the money, that’s all I can say.
The alarm went off at around 4.45 this morning, for no reason that I could discern, so I’m pretty tired now. I haven’t even looked at today’s papers, so will take them to bed. Fortunately, I don’t mind sleeping alone. The Sage and I haven’t slept well together for some time, so often didn’t – or, even if we started together, one or other of us would move into another bed after a while. We were much more comfortable, could sleep better and not disturb each other when we didn’t.
I don’t want to turn this into a blog about bereavement or any such thing, which is part of the reason I didn’t mention Russell’s death here for so long. The temptation to write about what I feel and think and am doing is strong, but it’s not a good idea. And blimey, it’d be self-indulgent too. I’ve been introspective much of my life and it’s a lot more fun when I’m not. Actually, the world outside is more interesting than what goes on in my head.