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This morning George's nephew, who has a half-ton truck, drove us down to the storage unit where my mother's stuff is being kept to take out some stuff for George's brother Reg, then drove the furniture over to Reg's place. They let me out downtown so I could run a few errands while the "big strong men" huffed and puffed the items up a couple of flights of stairs.
I returned a couple of DVDs and rented a new one, did some grocery shopping, and returned home. I was fine throughout the afternoon, but just now it hit me: I was in the storage unit with my dead mother's things. Her life had been boiled down to some boxes and some tightly-packed pieces of furniture.
The thought of those items so far away, sitting in the dark, is tremendously depressing. I don't have the heart to exercise today. I barely have the heart to go on breathing.
And I paid $11.58 for 230 grams (8.08 oz) of white 5-year-old Britannia Cheddar cheese. But it is almost unbearably good.
I returned a couple of DVDs and rented a new one, did some grocery shopping, and returned home. I was fine throughout the afternoon, but just now it hit me: I was in the storage unit with my dead mother's things. Her life had been boiled down to some boxes and some tightly-packed pieces of furniture.
The thought of those items so far away, sitting in the dark, is tremendously depressing. I don't have the heart to exercise today. I barely have the heart to go on breathing.
And I paid $11.58 for 230 grams (8.08 oz) of white 5-year-old Britannia Cheddar cheese. But it is almost unbearably good.
