Backtrack- April 11

April 11, Thursday, one week since I sold the shop.  Six days since  .  .  .   Steve left the planet.  Woke up at 6:30, back to sleep until 11:30– I am Manic, bereft.  I hear little rustlings–rats? fairies? Small doable actions, someone can help with those.  Sitting here on the couch I feel warm, somewhat normal, almost blissful.  I have cried and hugged and howled and been stoic and smiled and laughed so much i am tapped out.  Some kind of endorphin response, or numbing out, or hallucinogenic effect of being in constant shock.  I want to paint- what can I do to achieve that?  I put on a hoody and black pajama pants over fleece pants, ready to paint BLACK on anything you got–need to paint the bookcase WHITE. Ok, I can do that for now.

Meanwhile- STOP!  Again! don’t do anything! don’t answer the phone–Sorry! don’t want to talk to some people.  If someone comes, if someone I know, love, trust calls, then yes, I can do that.

Well, never mind, then.  I’ll just go back to chewing my tail.