Wow�this is my hundredth entry :o) how interesting I find that and how boring I am for finding that interesting. Louisa Boring.
But no, the reason I find this interesting is because I�d never even looked how many entries I�ve written and just now I was pootling around diaryland and I happened to notice my entry count and that is was 99. Hmmm, I thought to myself, if I write an entry tonight it�ll be my hundredth and so here I am, writing and being spooked out that something made me look at that. Something�like a coincidence maybe? I love coincidences :o) they make me feel like something is going on that we don�t know about.
Okay, I�ll try and stop talking like a mad person now.
CRAAAAY-ZEEEEE IS HOW I FEEEEEEEEL
I am still all weirded out today and I think it�s only getting weirder for me. I don�t know how to talk about it or even if I should (because talking about it or writing it down makes everything I�m thinking come to the surface and develop into something else, something that I don�t know if I can handle.) I tried to talk to Matt but he finds it hard to talk about stuff like this so it was difficult because I knew he was struggling with how it was making him feel. I don�t know what my Dad would say if I said I felt like I needed to talk to my counsellor about it�he�d probably just say �I knew it would traumatise you,� and okay�maybe I wasn�t ready to go in and maybe I shouldn�t have gone in, but I DON�T regret it and I think I NEEDED to go in for the closure. Maybe even for the experience. But all I need now is to work through it.
I�d been told by someone not to go in because they�d seen someone in an open casket and then all they could think of during the funeral and the burial was them inside the coffin and being buried�I was worried this�d freak me out, but my brain seriously can�t connect anything like that. I don�t know if it�s some weird kind of defense mechanism, where I�m stopping myself from seeing these horrific things, like my imagination is numb or something. Right now it�s still hard to think that he�s dead and realise that it�s true (I kind of am right now�but the thing is I don�t WANT to) and I can�t keep it connected for more than a few minutes. I don�t want to believe that it was Granddad in that room.
- I just have to say�it�s so weird how animals can sense how you�re feeling. I�ve just been crying as I�ve typed that and Fletch has come into the living room, put his feet up on my lap let me cuddle him. He�s so sweet�he always does that when I�m upset and he sits by me til he�s sure I�m okay.
I don�t know how to feel other than sad and freaked out, and feeling happy or anything sort of makes me feel guilty. It�s like I�m happyhappyhappy and then I remember he�s gone, and gone so recently, and it�s like a punch in the guts with guilty anxiety that I�m not feeling sad enough�and then I�m a misery to be around for ages (well...MORE of a misery�hee hee) and no one knows why and it�s like I�ve just had a HUGE mood swing.
I had a go at Chris on the night of the funeral�he was saying how if the dogs attacked us (not that they would) and we had nothing to hand, they�d probably do us a LOT of damage. That lead to a conversation about how to best BEAT dogs into submission. I guess it was a stupidboychat kind of thing, but it upset me so I just said, candidly �Can we stop talking about this please�� and Chris said in a really, I don�t know, incredulous (is the only word I can think of) voice �Why?� and I just snapped and said �Because I�ve been to a funeral today and I�m not really enjoying the idea of beating the dogs to death�� (which was possibly a little harsh and confrontational�) and he said �fair enough�, then went on to talk about something similar but neutral in a very nice voice and I forgave him, didn�t hold a grudge like I usually would and just chatted with him - and I think I surprised everyone in the room :o) but yes, mood swings like on an emotional playground�in abundance. And I�m coming out with some very strange crap.
ON WRITING CRAP
I�ve ben writing a LOT in the past week. And I definitely seem more focused on it. Today I�ve put a CD on instead of the TV (I�m a telly junkie sometimes, but Canada and a broken freeview box upon my (triumphant) return have weaned me) and I�ve done so much more than I expected. I�m listening to Prodigy and wishing we could go to another gig soon *prays to the ticket fairies*�but besides the music, which SHOULDN�T be distracting me *ahem*, I�ve carried a BIGGER notebook round with me so I can�t use my stupid neurosis as an excuse (I only write short notes in small notebooks, I get all twitchy at the idea of trying to write something loooong in a small notebook. I think it�s because I end up writing fast and my writing gets HUGE and I end up with a word or two on a line or something ridiculous�so it HAS to be A5) and I�ve used lunchtimes to write in. It�s all been rubbish of course, but I�ve been doing it anyway. I even have a couple of competitions to enter, and even if I don�t even enter I can at least say that they gave me ideas for proper fiction and poetry instead of me just jotting my thoughts and observations and stupid witterings down. It�s like me getting back to ME (I wish I knew what had made me change)
Anyway, what was I saying about writing crap? Oh yes, I write too much of it! On that note I will post this entry and get to doing the tidying up and washing up that needs to be done before HE returns from work�so off I go
xxxx
Commissioned from:
Last Lemon Productions!
