I thought I might tire of hearing people say how sorry they are for my loss. But I’m not. I am doing annoyed typing whilst aggressively eating a bowl of yogurt with honey and walnuts in- Do I know It’s Christmas? Yes. That’s what the walnuts are for. I don’t want to spoil my dinner but coffee for lunch wasn’t enough.
I did that thing today that I think a lot of people do. I have been feeling a bit overwhelmed so I set myself two targets. The first one was to exercise and the second was scale Mt. Washmore (the laundry). I have achieved those things. I looked around for something else to do.
A letter arrived about the mortgage- so I picked up the phone straightaway in a Chaka Khan style and thought I’d be done in a few minutes. An hour later I was still scribbling in black fineliner and listening to short bits of information and long musical interludes- I held the phone away from my ear for that bit. They hadn’t even attempted to annoy me with Christmas tunes; I think it was trying to be jazz. The conversation was a bit like when a friend tells you an anecdote you’ve heard before and you just listen because it would be cruel to stop them- you like the story anyway; let them talk. No new information but I was glad I’d rung them and proven that I wasn’t in denial about the whole financial responsibility thing. I am very aware of it. I will make the same phone call in a couple of months; hopeful that it is the end of the saga.
I think I’m writing like this because I’ve just finished a whole reading book, in a matter of days, without wandering off and forgetting what I’d started. So of course now I am the heroine of my own story and typing at my desk and all of a sudden the notion of me looking at the fading daylight is all the more interesting. I know you were already gripped by the yogurt talk. If you think I share a lot here, I don’t think you could handle a novel from me- if I got to make stuff up too, where would it end?
So, after the totally fine experience with the mortgage I thought I would tackle stuff to do with my phone. It was all in his name, all that stuff. I hadn’t changed this one yet. That was a mistake. After a queue of over forty people in a virtual chat rectangle, I finally got to type frantically to a person who had no idea that my life is so strange. When he asked to speak to Sebastian I froze. I wondered whether I should type in wiggly font like I imagine a ghost would. Adding lots of words with vowels in too. I decided not to go Derek Acorah on the guy, I had to admit that he was deceased. There was a long pause. The assistant didn’t tell me how sorry he was and I was instantly annoyed. I willed him to say sorry, then we could move on. He’d obviously missed that part of his training. Perhaps he’d been having phone trouble too.
Seb was my tech support. He would just hand me stuff ready to use. If he did try to explain what he’d done I would listen but he could have been the teacher in Peanuts for all the sense it made. I had to remind myself that I once handled all of these things on my own and it was fine.
I keep forgetting how it is almost Christmas, then I open my eyes and it is a step closer. A festive Weeping Angel. Seb would have liked that.