Got about four hours of sleep last night. Woke up - on the sofa recliner, and in his spot, because... I still can't sleep in our bed. I can barely even LOOK at it. How could I? Without Doug there to hold me, how can I ever?
Our two boys, Houdini and Prowler, were with me; Prowler beside me, and Houdini at my feet. They're now snuggled up to each other next to me, and I'm jealous, because my snuggle partner is gone forever. Marmalade is sleeping on the bed, as she always does when no one is in it, because she is an evil ginger kitty who gives zero fucks.
Made a cup of coffee, and I'm trying to choke it down, one sip at a time. I've gotten through about a third of it in just under two hours.
Tried to watch the morning news, but I can't follow it. Nothing tracks.
EVERYTHING is just SO MUCH EFFORT. I can't hold a thought in my head; simple tasks, like changing the fucking toilet paper roll, are suddenly too challenging to handle, so I just leave the roll on the vanity, because who cares?
This morning, I have to go take care of the paperwork for Doug's cremation. I have no idea what that's gonna be like.
I don't know why I keep posting the minutiae of my daily existence. It's not that I'm trolling for sympathy, because I'm fucking DROWNING in that. It's not that I want attention, because for the first time in my life, I just want to disappear into the background.
Maybe it's because marriage IS the minutiae of daily existence, and these little details about my mood and how I slept are the sort of thing I'd share with him; so without him, I have to get it out anyway. I don't know.
Maybe it's because I want people to see how fucking wrecked I am, so they can get SOME understanding of how awful it is to lose your partner so they'll appreciate theirs more.
Or maybe it's because, even though I have an enormous list of things to do, I still end up with empty time, and I have to fill it somehow, so writing about bullshit is something to do because it keeps me from screaming into the void.
I keep wondering where he is. Is he "in heaven?" Is he hanging around, watching me become smaller and smaller every day? (That's metaphorically and literally - I'm down five pounds.) Or, is he just... gone? I MIGHT be able to bear this - MIGHT - if I at least thought he was still here in some way, still with me, even if I can't see him or hear him or touch him. But if death really is, as I suspect, The End... well, I just don't know how to bear that.
I suppose this would be a great time to be religious, because at least then I'd be able to convince myself that he's dead, but he's not DEAD dead. Alas, I'm not.
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