Krissie: Interim

We get an extra day off from the play, which is a mixed blessing. It enables me to get work done at my mother’s house, and do the various other things like send out the obits, cancel insurance, find an alternative for the gravestone (the first place was outrageously expensive and they have a shoddy reputation) and start packing stuff for Goodwill, the food bank etc.
But I wake up in the morning, in a fairly good mood, and then a brown funk starts creeping over me. Not the blues — blue is too pretty a color, even in its darker, inkier shades. These are the browns — thick and foggy and slow-moving, settling over me like a … not a shroud. But a heavy mantle. And despite my darling Richie, it makes me feel very alone.
It’ll be all right. Once the play is over I’ll balance the work on my mother’s stuff with writing, and that will be a joy. I’ll get through it. Except — shit, the next three books are about three sisters whose parents have just died, including a difficult mother. Crap — there’s no way out of it. I could change the mother — make her nice, maybe. Or have her die earlier. Unlike Crusie, I don’t really have a problem with working out my issues in fiction. In my case it can enrich things, not distract from the story.
So we’ll see how things go.
And I’ll have to start watching food.
It’ll just have to be one day at a time.
Ah, but Kate’s coming to see the show tomorrow.
And Richie’s going to dress rehearsal to film stuff and take some new photos, so we’ll have fun stuff in the next few days.
The good things way outweigh the bad. You just gotta remember to look for them.