I had a little crash earlier this evening. No, not an A-Team train crash. I'm not getting the power supply 'til tomorrow. I mean an emotional crash. After Julia went home – having made impressive progress already – a period of calm and quiet set in and I wasn't comfortable with it at all. Waves of negativity washed over me, and I started regarding all of the things that have given me a lift over the last few days – Inge, Julia, bric-a-brac shopping – as pathetic, desperate and tragic.
I broke down. I just let it happen. I sat in the dark sobbing and sniffing, unable to think straight. Unable to even blow my nose properly.
Right now my mood is a little better. It's not like I've decided or realised that those things aren't pathetic, desperate and tragic. They are. It's more that I'm feeling okay with desperation and tragedy. They are what they are. I don't think I'm ever going to feel happy or stable ever again. So if I can bring about a mood lift here and there, I'll take whatever I can get. And if it's going to be followed by a crash and a breakdown every time, so be it.
You know, Julia seemed genuinely excited when I was telling her about the train set. I really don't think she was sucking up to me or anything. She's a good person and I'm glad she's in my life. Even if she's just my cleaner.
That "just" isn't belittling of her role as a cleaner, by the way. It refers to the limitations of my relationship with her. Equally, I'm just the guy whose flat she cleans.
YOU ARE READING
Man Of Few Words
General FictionOne man's painful yet funny search for meaning in a life about to be cut short. Cancer has made David Alexander's whole existence suddenly seem worthless. But is it?
