Today I am going to try to get back to normal. I won't be making any promises about not being sad anymore, because that’s unrealistic. Sadness hits me—like a Mack truck—without warning. Sometimes I can breathe through it, other times I cry. I know I will struggle with the grief, and my reactions to it, for a long time.
Excepting the sadness, everything else is within my control: what I make of my days, and how I make myself happy. Today my camera goes back in my purse when I leave the house for that scene I might capture, and in the kitchen when I cook to frame that plate of food that looks like art to me. And so today I will begin to cook again. And I will clean. I will no longer be overwhelmed by how much I have to do, choosing to ignore the clutter. I will attack it—one junk mail pile at a time. Then I’m going to find that web site where I can opt out of junk mail because I’m never getting back all the time I’ve spent recycling, and I’m no longer willing to squander any more of it on junk mail. I have better things to do.
I have plans this week for a haircut and a manicure, for doctors’ appointments and lunch with Amy in Hartford. And then on Saturday I go to Chicago with Deanna. When I get back Jill arrives for a week. I still have to choose a day to dedicate to reading this summer, and a dent to make in my summer reading pile. I haven’t had a good soft serve yet this season, and am due for more lobster. And a day in the Back Bay. And on the beach.
So today I embrace my new normal. I know my writing will follow.