We are such strange and complex creatures. I can barely understand myself never mind anyone else. On one level I am having a wonderful staycation in New York – hang-gliding, roller disco, going to the beach, outdoor concerts and catching up with friends. But I also feel profoundly exhausted and burnt out. The word ‘burnt’ rings painfully ironic today as this is the second time in 2 weeks I’ve burnt my right hand. It’s all bandaged up like a catcher’s mitt and I have chefs burn cream on my 3 scalded fingers (I’m typing with my left hand). I’ve also had a chest infection for 2 weeks. I’ve been ignoring it, but it keeps taking my breath away and landing me back in bed.
My friend Loredana (who lost her beloved husband the month before Laura died) has noticed we’re both in a similar emotionally burnt out place. We’re both incapable of taking care of anything at the moment. Plants that have been lovingly tended for years are left to moulder, cleaning and cooking seem like epic tasks and are often ignored. After years of care taking – my health my mum’s health and then Laura’s – I can’t care for one more thing. And yet this illness is forcing me to start taking care of me again and to stop, rest and reconsider the way forward.