I thought I was done.
I had no more ideas or thoughts on the matter.
I was a little sad about it being over, but mainly I was relieved. I was empty of the daily narrative that seems to me to be selfish. How can I possibly think of myself that much? And to write it all down? That’s narcissistic. I was getting tired of myself and thankfully, I was done.
Two days went and then a week and I thought, “hmmm, maybe I shouldn’t have gone through the trouble of setting up the blog…”
But then something happened. (It was the *Cereal and Milk* day). And it all started spilling out of my head again.
I’m beginning to believe that that is how grief works.
It stops.
There are a lot of sunny days in a row (literally and figuratively).
You think maybe you can move forward.
You’re relieved to have it off your back.
You think you can move on from thinking about yourself and how sad you are all of the time.
And you’re ready to be yourself again.
And then it kicks you in the teeth.
And you have to start all over.
