We survived the flood, but did not go untouched. I don't want to talk of the wreck that is left behind. It will be a long time before the floods of 2011 do not get spoken in the hushed reverent tones of one who has lived through something - even if life did keep on gallivanting along in its wake. I am angry and upset and impotent and frightened and tearful. And the stench of mud permeates my nostrils. The heartbreak of today can be dissected some other time. For now I want distraction.
I spent a good hour this morning looking at sparkly Christian Louboutin heels because I needed to pull out the big guns, and it wasn't until I'd clicked through every metallic colour of the rainbow that I felt myself relaxing just a little. Not thinking just a little. The night before it had been the Book Depository and buying books for Paris. And the night before that I was at work, and crashed nearly the second I got home.
I find myself easily tearful at the moment. Today while I was playing with the Possum we giggled and laughed and read books and I felt happy and light. And then Bingley came home covered in mud and tears and the pain of that, the acute sharp pain left us both reeling. And tonight I flicked through blogs, happy and blithe and *not thinking about it* when I got to one of my favourite blogs, full of beautiful things... and a line in it twisted deep within me. A jealous, bilious, emerald green barb and panicky sense of loss.
And then I turned off the computer and lay on the floor with the Possum. And didn't think about it some more.