I’m enjoying reading this. I find reading a proper book a nicer way to wind down in bed than reading an iPad. I do wake up once or twice in the night and Bertie wakes me with his morning sucking ceremony for 20 minutes, apparently some cats do. It gives him great pleasure to suck any bit of my night attire he can find, and if I try to hide he sucks my nose, eyebrows, hair. Odd cat.
It’s strange that for 95% of the time I am fine, with the odd tear rush if some silly sentimental song pops up. But very occasionally I get hit by what I can only describe as a seeping sadness. I can sense it is powerful and my best means of defence is to cry; a lot. But what brings it on is a mystery. I had a nice morning breakfasting with old work friends. Lots of laughs. Nothing happened to upset me. Perhaps it was yesterday catching up. Another thing that helps is rummaging through his things. You would think that would make it worse.
And now I can see, as I so often can when I’m writing. It’s to do with connection and closeness, there are some things I can part with, some I can’t, some I will keep and wear even though they are too big for me. It’s a very odd place to be. 🤔