I get up--usually around Eight--and have my protein drink. (Speaking of which, what the hell??? There seems to be some kind of a blight right now with Naked Juice's Protein. All of the places that I usually find it--some local 7-11's, Giant supermarket--all seem to be out of it. Really annoying. ) Then I start in on the work. I have my father's bedroom pretty much sorted. Now I've started in on his smoking room. That is by far the greater undertaking. It is easier going in one respect: just about everything in there can go right into the dumpster. The formerly white walls in that room are a shade of ochre. Him sitting back there and smoking seven or eight cigars a day has pretty much taken it's toll. Tonight, I hauled about twelve bags of Time magazines out to the curb for recycling.
I picked up some paint chips the other day. Cellodon greens and reddish oranges. I'll do my best to avoid the oranges since I'd just have to repaint when I sell the Ol' Homestead, but I make no promises there.
I generally take a break in the afternoon and make phone calls and deal with other paperaserie associated with the estate. Then a few more hours of work. Then a nice, long relaxing shower. The past couple of night's, feeling the need for some human interaction, I head into Doylestown and head to Starbucks, losing myself in The Reformation by Diarmaid McCollough, thinking about nought but the contending takes on the Eucharist and the political machinations of the Schmalkaldic league. Then I head back home, where Faithful Companion is eagerly awaiting my arrival.
Simple enough, right?
Only I'm getting pretty damn tired of this.
I just want it all to be over.
My sadness over the loss of my father has sort of resolved itself into a wistfulness. Every now and then, something will make me think of him, like tonight at the supermarket when I passed a pile of Tastycakes on sale. (Tastycakes were what my father insisted on having for lunch everyday. One of my preoccupations has been to make sure he always had a good supply set in.)
There's sorrow there, but it's a penumbra around pleasant memories of the man he was.
So now, I want to get away from here. Not for good, I'll come back. I want to get on a plane and go somewhere. Somewhere with a hot tub. I want the weather to be warmer, to rush the season. I want to have a plan. I want spend time with friends. I want to meet new people. I want to go on a Gay Cruise.
When that thought crossed my mind, that's when I knew to put on the brakes.
Emphatically, I do Not want to go on a Gay Cruise.
So here's what I'm going to do: nothing.
That is to say, nothing different than what I have been doing. Hang in there, stick it out, be patient, take care of business.
Every thing will work out okay.