Failing at Getting Back to Real Life

Dear Darling Ones,

I was supposed to go back to work today. I really need to go back to work. I have at least three projects now overdue and one more soon to be overdue. If I do not work I do not get paid.

Unfortunately, the dad’s death did not turn me into an obscenely rich heiress. My inheritance was 157 wheat pennies and an old, inoperable Kodamatic instant camera (more on this at a later date).

And yet, guess what? I cannot bring myself to do work. I decided my new job is watching the Frightened Rabbit’s cover of “The Whole of the Moon” on repeat while intermittently crying. Someone should pay me for this. I’m really good at it.

Today I had a lovely exchange with one of my clients who told me her husband was stoked to see the Johnny Cash stamp on the thank you card I sent. I was stoked he noticed my cool-ass stamps because I bet nobody else did.

She asked me how I was doing. I told her I was a numb zombie, and she reassured me that was normal. Her kindness is much appreciated and she never once asked me if I was doing the work that is overdue.

All the kindness I’ve been afforded makes me super weepy. I’m not sure if it’s my brain’s super sneaky way to delay dealing with grief, or if unending gratitude is part of the process.

For the record, what does it even mean to deal with grief? Does it just mean being sad every day until you are not sad? Am I supposed to sit and contemplate all the ways in which I am sad and then be like, okay grief has been properly dealt with?

I googled it and the answers were not much help. From what I gather it is just being sad until you are not sad anymore. Too bad for grief, because I’m always a little bit sad and have been since birth.

So, anyway, I was supposed to start real life today now that my house is empty of family and their dogs.

It started off rocky when I didn’t wake up until 10:15, but I managed to exercise and eat a healthy, non-donut breakfast. Since then I have failed miserably at real life-ing.

There are good intentions somewhere in my zombie brain. I don’t think zombie’s have brains. I kind of hate zombies and that whole trend with the pub crawls and the Walking Dead and all that sucked ass. I do know zombies want to eat brains and thus ends my knowledge go zombies. Maybe they want to eat them because they don’t have them?

I digress.

I tried. I pulled Angrboda onto my lap and opened an email, but then I looked out the window to watch the wind in the leaves and the shadows they made on the side of my house and then next thing I knew it was two hours later.

Basically it took me two hours to read one email.

I’m also failing at being gentle with myself because I keep chastising me for being a lazy piece of shit and using my dad’s death to avoid work and really I should just get to work because of the aforementioned need to get paid. Plus, I’m worried my clients are going to get mad at me for not completing my work in a timely fashion after my dad died and then I will lose them all and end up homeless.

And yet, as soon as I click publish on this I’m going right back to watching the video.

I’ll try again tomorrow.

Jodi

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