Tomorrow I am moving from our lovely big flat in to a tiny double room. Like stepping back in time almost 15 years.
Let's just say I am not coping as well as I thought I was. As I sit here on the floor of the flat amidst piles of flatpack furniture, clothes, memories and all kinds of other things I will have to leave behind, all I can do is cry.
I went to see my new room today and measured it. And it turns out that the fabulous new StudyBed I was going to purchase is most likely simply too big for the room. So I can not have it. A bed that turns from bed in to desk in a second seemed a brilliant idea. It meant I would not feel like being holed up in a tiny tiny bedroom all day. In a second, I would hide the bed and have a living room instead. But now it does not fit. And that small fact has broken the camel's back. I can not do this.
How did it come to this. Why did I not find a way so that I had enough money to stay here? Why didI not go back to work sooner so I maybe would not have had to move? Why did I jot get off my lazy arse and go back to work like so many other widows? Why does the fucking probate take so long? If that had been quicker, I would not have to move.
Ironically I may well have a job by the end of next week. And apparently probate is going 'well' and they may be able to release the cash part of my inheritance soon.
All too late.
It is all going wrong. I knew something was not right. It was all going too well. It was all so much easier than I thought it would be. I was waiting for something to happen. It could not be this easy to get on with life after losing the thing you love more than life itself.
It isn't. It isn't just difficult, it is virtually impossible.
Somebody please make this all go away. I don't want this anymore.