Thin Veneer

Life, as it does, has carried on regardless of my feelings. The world continues to turn; the sun sinking down and the moon rising. And here I sit. In my silence, quietly mourning the loss of my love and my life. Everyday things still have to happen. I get up, shower, get dressed, feed the dog, make a cup of tea, clean, shop, take the dog for a walk... life just continues and I cope. I smile when I'm supposed to; make small talk; do enough to get by when all the while, I'm dying inside. I'm fine until someone says something that recognises my grief and then, in that instant, my veneer shatters and the tears flow.

We're coming up to the five month mark... I read somewhere that it's at six months when you are at your absolute rock bottom with grief. I can only hope I've 'peaked' early. I'm not sure how much more 'holding it together' I can stand. Today has been a day of trials. Stupid things that Oli always took care of and on their own are probably totally surmountable but today they seemed to big to climb. The first was the MOT for the car.. not a difficult thing except Oli loved significant number plates and as such, whilst we have a normal number plate, its spacing is illegal. It should read LM10 MPM but reads LM1 (Lara Madge 1) 0MPM (Oliver Michael Palmer Madge). This means that most places won't pass the car due to the number plate. I've got the legal version in the boot of the car and naively thought I could just unscrew the illegal one and swap them over.. but the back plate is stuck on with no screws in sight and the front one only has two tiny little holes and I have no idea how to get them off. I also don't know how to check whether I need to replace my tyres but am pretty sure I do, so I'm off to Kwik Fit on Monday to ask their help. And now, I've just had the post come through and apparently Oli owes over a grand in self assessment tax and they are going to charge me £130 worth of interest because it hasn't been paid before now... like, how the fuck was I supposed to know that?? Wankers. Needless to say, the post managed to bring me to my knees weeping in my own self pity. It's Friday, five o'clock and I'd like nothing more than to call a friend and suggest a pint in the pub, but I don't really have anyone I am that close to do that with and we've got our first Gig race of the season tomorrow so probably shouldn't anyway. Fuck. Life fucking sucks. When are the good times coming back? I'm sat in my poxy bungalow in complete silence, hammering away at the keyboard like a petulant teenager, feeling really goddamn sorry for myself. FUCK. God, I love swearing.