2.40am

I can’t remember the last time I slept on a couch: One Christmas a few years ago when Dad had died and I spent Christmas Eve with my sister and her now ex husband?

I not going to entirely blame their 6 year omd son now, who is asleep in my bed alongside his 7 year old niece. I could blame my 9 year old son who championed a ‘sleepover’ but didn’t actually want anyone sleeping in his room (not even his bed!l…perhaps he knew something I didn’t.

Since 11pm, after giggles and snuggles and photos sent to mummies (them happy, me in mock despair) I’ve been kicked repeatedly, shouted at in sleep, shouted at awake, covers repeatedly pulled from me.

What’s not helped is I’m actually unwell too (I did warn my sisters) and suspect that I may well have a temperature too. I know that I have barely slept, and if I have, it’s that sleep where you think you’re awake but very still and can’t move.

So, I’ve moved to the couch.

Today, well yesterday really, I finally went to my the school and retrieved my things from my office. It’s taken me all week to build myself up to do that, a few days of procrastination, and my sister coming with me. Maybe that’s part of the reason I agreed to a sleepover.

I also received my last paycheck today. There’s some comfort in that until I realise that from Monday I’m not actually earning anything. Eeek. Some trawling through job sites found some more tutoring agencies looking for Tutors and with better pay than last year…so, there’s hope I guess.

The more people I speak to about my business plan, the more they tell me to go for it. There is no business like mine in the area, and adding the niche I would eventually like to adapt to, I have these feelings that this could work. It also could fail terribly which is what is stopping me. From a risk perspective, my biggest issue if it failed initially would be the cost of the course which gives me adherence to the body who will approve insurance. And, actually, whilst I certainly don’t have that money to throw away, it is an investment which ever way you look at it.

WordPress, I’m going to do it.

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Note – 23rd April, 2020, (daily prompt)

I have written journals or diaries since my early teens. I have an obsession with notebooks.

Early on, I wrote in standard diaries but the lines were not big enough and the daily entry space not long enough. I have a few old exercise books which I turned into a diary, ripping out and destroying the few pages of school work before covering the book with a poster.

Later, in my early 20s, my notebook passion took full force. I can’t go into a stationers without buying one. TK Maxx is lethal.

The cover is important – of course. But so is the weight of the book in my hand, the feel and thickness of the pages and the size of the lines.

My journal writing is sporadic though. I don’t and never have written every day. I often write more in times of distress or when I am in love.

I write notes on my life.

I write diary style, poems, short stories. I write random thoughts, random words. I doodle, I draw. I plan, I reflect. I log, I consider. I work out my life. Work through my life.

Strangely, despite my love of physical journals, most of my writing now appears on here instead. I still have paper journals and write in them occasionally, but the majority of my writing is on here.

And so, dear reader, you are reading the notes of my life. 🤗

My friend once told me that if she could have any dad, not having had one herself for most of her life, she would choose my dad.

He has been a perfect dad in so many ways.

Teaching us to catch a ball, sat facing each other in the living room: throwing and catching, throwing and catching. Teaching us to ride a bike. Teaching us to swim. Then there are the things he made us. Wooden stilts, swings, a tree house. Beautiful carved models of the things we love. My garden – just the way I planned it.

The animals we (he) cared for… Rabbits, Guinea pigs, horses, dogs.

Experiences… Walking through the woods with his gundog. Making the same dog pull us on a sledge over the snowy ground. The annual walk to the ‘haunted house’ at Halloween. Caravan Holidays. Vegetable picking. Flower picking. Going with him on ‘the round’: helping him as he delivered his produce to greengrocers.

The endless conversations as we have grown up: Dad was always there to listen, advise.

Our handsome, strong, caring… Perfect… father.

How do you cope with losing someone who has been a huge part of your life for 38 years? How do you manage without that person being in your life every day?

What will my days look like? What will happen in the evening when I no longer go to sit with him, listen to him?

You cannot predict how you will grieve. For me, my grief has been a bubbling stream: constantly moving, changing, present. Then a dam burst and I can’t breathe, think… The pain feels like it will tear me in half. Then, numbness… so ice-cold that I don’t feel alive.

Dad’s only been gone five days. I still haven’t accepted it. I go into his living room and it’s like he has just stepped out for a moment. Every night, I pick up his jacket just to smell him… Pretending in my head that I’m hugging him goodnight. Am I losing it? Is this normal?

I’ve found my journal to be a good companion and a comfort. I started it five years ago when Dad was first diagnosed with lung cancer. I’ve written lots of memories; at night, when I couldn’t sleep; at his hospital bed with tears streaming and his hand in mine.

Dad’s funeral is a week tomorrow.