My night on the sofa was not great. I settled myself early with the laptop to watch a few old “Monday night Skippy’s” races. Tea: Check. Biscuits: Check. Depression: Check. Anxiety: Check. In fact I would be checking all day at this rate. Halfway through my first race, I’m starting to nod off and my phone rings. It’s Mrs Golf. She’s had an awful day and was brave enough to take me up on my offer and call me for a chat. Being sleepy plus my Princeling checking on me at the same time, bless him, I didn’t know if I was coming or going at first. Slightly amusing now. I’m still surprised I got the call though. The reason I used the word brave is that when you are in the depths of feeling the pain, it’s so hard to actually pick up the phone and call someone. I’ve not done it yet. Or at least not when in full crying my eyes out mode. I still don’t have a label for that. She did well.
I listen to her day and we talked until late. It was so nice to be able to help ease her pain. Of course, now that I actually have a high level of empathy, it hurts me too but I accepted that as part of the process of helping and healing some time ago. Once the call ended I go back to my races and before long, I’m nodding off again. I put away the laptop and settle for sleep… Only it doesn’t come. I lie there for 45 long minutes pondering Life, the Universe et al. I’m woken several times in the night by all sorts of annoying things. Even the alarm on the old £10 Tesco phone in the drawer went off at 4am. I mean, what the bun? On top of everything else, it reminds me of when I couldn’t sleep in our bed because I was getting horrific nightmares and flashbacks. My counsellor back then even suggested I may have PTSD. I don’t say that lightly as I have a little knowledge about this and the term should not be bandied about willy nilly. Suffice to say I won’t be sleeping there tonight.
Edward Van Halen passed away yesterday.
Wow… It seems like 2020 is far from done with us.
It has hit me quite hard. I’ve always loved Edwards playing but I was never a “Fan” as such. So why do I feel like I’ve been punched in the guts? I’m guessing it’s just yet another layer to the 2020 cunt cake. (Sorry, but tell me the word isn’t appropriate!) All the Trumptards and Trumpettes are despicably spreading Covid throughout the US government, the second wave is having a surfing competition, I’m feeling tender from the angiogram, I’m still reeling from being at the hospital and I’ve not slept well at all. Living my best life as My Lady used to say…
I want to have a nap. Not a good sign. A nap wouldn’t be a problem but it’s what it represents I have issue with. I mustn’t let myself spiral. I’m in hibernate mode now. I’m so used to seeing no one for days at a time, that I don’t seek any contact much, if at all. My nearest get a kiss or a heart text but that’s it. ‘I’m still here but hiding’. It’s funny you know, sometimes when I’m in this mood I find myself expecting the whole world to be psychic and know exactly when and how to contact me at any given moment, but at the same time wanting to hide from the whole Universe. Yet another grief dichotomy…
I’m supposed to rest for the next few days, but it’s driving me mad already. I cant play guitar, I cant race online and obviously I can’t drive my car either. My wrist still hurts too so any PC time is limited. So what the hell else is there? Oh yeah… Poor me… Again. Meh… I’m having that nap. Maybe the world will go away for a couple of hours. Like I said… Meh.
The Life and Times of Lord Crookedhorn. 