When I was on the couch this morning trying to sit up straight and read my email messages, I could hardly do it. I just wanted to sleep, even though I've been resting for days. Yes, I'm so glad the "holidays" are over. I won't miss December at all, not in the least.
I am so scared. I am so sad. I am so emotional. I am so regretful. And right now, I'm so mad at George. He is so, so jealous of Aiden and is so often a grumpy old man. He doesn't understand me, or very little, anyway.
My most basic, greatest fears?
This is the most stupid, idiotic one, and it's the one I hate to even write out of shame. But a tiny part in the back of my mind thinks just what if, what if, what if, they're right and there IS a devil, because if so, I'm sunk. But the rational 99 percent of me knows better and always has. I'm just going to rot or burned up like gas. Geez, will they know what I want as far as a memorial? Do I have all the papers? I've got so much stuff to organize and throw away. It's going to hurt, but I've got to go through the pieces of my life, treasure the memories, and then let them go. They're not for anyone else's eyes.
Then I've got to make sure the will and everything about money is in order. Oh, how I worry how things will work out between the girls and George. Part of just wants to die right this minute and get it over with. But this "to do" stuff is just hanging over my head. I am so freaked because George is mad at me. I was so stupid, but I called him downstairs this morning just because I wanted to be comforted, and he started yelling about how all I talk about is Aiden. So not true. He is so jealous of a little 6-year-old boy.
I thought it would be cathartic to write, but it's not. No one should feel this bad. Ever. I did nothing to deserve this.
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