Post depression depression.

It’s Tuesday, my “Sunday” as it were. On Friday, I noticed that some of the ceiling plaster had fallen on the floor in the downstairs toilet which is under the bath upstairs. It has been flaky for some time so I wasn’t that concerned. Randomly, I decided to actually have a look at it. It was damp. Oh shit…

My Princeling had over filled the bath recently, but had assured me that it wasn’t by too much. The bathroom is old and knackered and the shower drips puddles to the side of the bath too. The problem was I didn’t realise that the flooring had come away from the bath and wall, so the water would have gone through to downstairs. I poked the ceiling a few times and lots of the plaster just fell away. Great. So that clears up what I’m doing for the next two days. So much for enjoying my ‘weekend’. It’s also going to be yet another hit on the finances I could do without.

So, I clear out the downstairs toilet and scrub the whole thing down, top to bottom. I scraped way the remaining loose plaster and there looks to be a lot of work there. Once that was done, I went upstairs to assess what I needed to do. Looking closely at it, it was obvious. The whole corner needed lifting, scrubbing and resealing. Out with the super glue and silicone. By all accounts, it went quite well. The floor is stuck down properly and the first sealant layer applied. I roasted the whole area with the hair dryer throughout which helped no end. All the while, I’m thinking about the last time My Lady and I attacked the bathroom. It was only a month or so before she passed away. I remember it well. Phase one complete then, allow it to dry properly and then have at it again tomorrow.

I’ve been in a strange head space over the last few weeks. I feel the need to change things at home. To this day, I’ve kept almost everything exactly how it was the very last time My Lady left the house. Before you know it, it will have been two years. How long should I leave it? I’ve only just removed My Lady’s shoes from the shoe rack in the hallway yesterday. It was all filthy. After 20 months of not being touched once, it’s not surprising. I also finally moved the broken fridge from the outhouse. It’s been out there since it was replaced 10 months ago. I guess I’m tired of living in a (dirty) memorial to the gaping whole in our lives. There’s no way I could ever change everything though. This home will always be My Lady’s home too, and there’s no reason that should change. Too much anyway. I still want her touch on the house. I want to see her face on the walls, her paintings, her treasured ornaments and so on. I always will. I’m struggling to figure out what exactly I’m trying to do. Maybe I just need to look after the house after all this time. It’s grim, how dirty things can get when they’re not touched for over a year and a half. The little corners that get over looked when I’m trying to get over the depression enough to do housework. Ew. ‘Nuff now. I can’t fix it all overnight but I can’t continue like this…

Yesterday was a weird one. I had two visits in one day. My dear friend and adopted brother popped in after work. Not long after that my good friend and fellow guitarist arrived for an evenings socialising. “Socialising”. The very words meaning has changed now. The proper socials we used to have feel like a long and distant memory now. An unattainable fantasy even. For the last two summers, I’ve been dreaming of a summer stay over. Beer, barbeque, chilled music on the garden system and everyone sat together next to the bonfire, stargazing and chatting nonsense until dawn. My closest fiends… I miss them, lots.

I had a thoroughly pleasant evening for once. As ever, we talked at length about the finer points of drop tunings and exchanged weird and wonderful (and cheesy) songs on Spotify. We noodled around on the guitars for most of the evening, by the end of which I was pleasantly tipsy and I only had the one John Smiths. It yet again reminds me how rare these kind of evenings are now and that, for me, was quite the party. Going back to “normal” after he left was quite depressing, surprisingly. Depression… I wish it would just f**k off now. It twists and turns like a… Twisty turny thing. First I get the downer of the vaccination centre closing, then I get the downer of buying into Mr Grumps bullshit, quite aside from it being yet another shitty low rent, low paid job. Money isn’t looking great at the moment either. These few weeks were always going to be hard financially. The future is so uncertain. Again. I hate it. Yet another downer sapping at my soul. I’ll pull out of it, I always do, but I’m mentally exhausted 24/7. I’m starting to feel control of my life slipping through my fingers a little. Can’t let that happen. Not now, not ever. It’s so hard keeping going when you feel so weak and pathetic. With my Princeling out at work the last two evenings, I’ve had a hoodie nap both afternoons. Oh poor depressed me. Ugh.

Work Husband was supposed to be getting married tomorrow. His niece who lives with them tested positive for Covid. When will this crap ever end? He’s already sick with something so I hope it doesn’t get worse. I still don’t understand how most people have gone back to “normal” like Covid has gone away. Around 35k new cases everyday still, but apparently that’s not an issue any more. I’d say less than half the people I see in the supermarket are wearing masks. Even the staff, when there is a sign on the entrance asking people to wear masks.

I completed phase two of the bathroom. God knows what it will be like if I have to redo it any time soon. Superglue and all. I’m determined that bastard thing doesn’t leak. Once I confirm the bathroom is good, then phase three is the downstairs ceiling. I’ll need spray sealant, filler and paint for that. Yet more expense.

Tuesday evening: Despite all the progress on the house, I’m as depressed as before. Ugh. Post depression depression. I’m going to bed.