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Jan. 27th, 2009 10:51 amI'm proud of myself. I finally got my email backlog down to 75. This is a large number for me, but a good half of them are from friends who have learned of my bereavement (why does that sound so 19th century?) and I can only answer them very, very slowly.
Today is a difficult day. One gets difficult days at times like this. I had planned to do a big catch-up and I have a list to help me, but everything is a bit of a struggle.
The good thing about difficult days is I get non-hungry. I make sure I eat (because I have all these friends who worry when I don't) but I eat less. And yesterday I was told that I had lost weight. It's very hard for me to lose weight, because I have PCOS and was just on all that cortisone (and, let me admit it, I do enjoy food), so I may ache and have the miseries, but there's a little part of me that's thinking "I am returning to my pre-cortisone size" which was still too large, but I fitted into my clothes better. So this is good.
Today it's tempting to be Pollyanna and pretend everything is good so hard that it becomes good. Except that I need to grieve.
Tomorrow I will be past the first stage of mourning, and I have just decided my bed needs pink sheets. I think this means my normal self is beginning to emerge from the woes and I think the rest of the world had better run and hide. My sense of humour plus me missing Les is probably not a safe combination.
Today is a difficult day. One gets difficult days at times like this. I had planned to do a big catch-up and I have a list to help me, but everything is a bit of a struggle.
The good thing about difficult days is I get non-hungry. I make sure I eat (because I have all these friends who worry when I don't) but I eat less. And yesterday I was told that I had lost weight. It's very hard for me to lose weight, because I have PCOS and was just on all that cortisone (and, let me admit it, I do enjoy food), so I may ache and have the miseries, but there's a little part of me that's thinking "I am returning to my pre-cortisone size" which was still too large, but I fitted into my clothes better. So this is good.
Today it's tempting to be Pollyanna and pretend everything is good so hard that it becomes good. Except that I need to grieve.
Tomorrow I will be past the first stage of mourning, and I have just decided my bed needs pink sheets. I think this means my normal self is beginning to emerge from the woes and I think the rest of the world had better run and hide. My sense of humour plus me missing Les is probably not a safe combination.