I feel so isolated out here in suburbiana. I'm in Santa Cruz, puttering around the old homestead trying to take stock of everything that needs to be done. Throwing things out. Sneezing a lot. I haven't gotten a whole lot done yet today, and a lot of what I have done is move a bunch of boxes out of one room and in to another. Uhhh. George helped out by toting away some big stuff. He's become mister helpful ever since I left him a bitchy landlordy note last week. I showed up yesterday to find that he'd cleaned the livingroom and Hm. It's going to be wacky, this next month. Yep.
This is therapeutic, sifting through everything, finding old letters and photographs, notes in book margins. I feel like i'm starting to come to terms with the reality of her being gone. I'm still sad, very sad, and sometimes extremely angry, but I don't have nightmares like I used to.
Santa Cruz smells good. There's a giant tea rose bush blooming hysterically in the backyard and every open window brings the scent in on the breeze. Also, the sound of birds, crickets, foghorns in the quiet: Very soothing.