Backtrack- April 11
April 11, Thursday, one week since I sold the shop. Six days since . . . Steve left the planet. Woke up at 6:30, back to sleep until 11:30– I am Manic, bereft. I hear little rustlings–rats? fairies? Small doable actions, someone can help with those. Sitting here on the couch I feel warm, somewhat normal, almost blissful. I have cried and hugged and howled and been stoic and smiled and laughed so much i am tapped out. Some kind of endorphin response, or numbing out, or hallucinogenic effect of being in constant shock. I want to paint- what can I do to achieve that? I put on a hoody and black pajama pants over fleece pants, ready to paint BLACK on anything you got–need to paint the bookcase WHITE. Ok, I can do that for now.
Meanwhile- STOP! Again! don’t do anything! don’t answer the phone–Sorry! don’t want to talk to some people. If someone comes, if someone I know, love, trust calls, then yes, I can do that.