Sitting at home, full of cold now, feeling sorry for myself.
Went up to the cemetry on Sunday before getting my car back. Hard to realise another month's passed, Christmas but a glimmer in the distance.
A friend popped round last night, on the off chance I'd be in. Wasn't sure if I'd even moved. Asking about how I was, how's it going, work and the like. And I'd said, yeah, all's as good as can be expected, you know, the usual response to ensure you don't get asked any deeper, emotional questions.
So, how do I feel? Difficult to say. At the moment, very emotional, tired, and exhausted. But that's probably more to do with the flu than anything else. Lonely? I suppose so, but then so many of my friends are making sure that that's a rare thing. I know from looking at the bank balance and the diary that I'm out and about most weekends doing something, going out somewhere.
I guess the scariest thing is seeing time ticking away and realising it's only 4 months before it'll be a year since Jules went. And looking back on it all and remembering how perfect everything was, and how f^&@ed up it became. What was the point? What was the reason? And why did something have to steal someone so precious?
