I’ve spent the last 24 hours clearing up the house, desperately trying to return it to somewhere we might choose to spend time, rather than being too embarrassing to invite anyone in to. I’ve changed the sheets (OK, they’d only been on a week, that was just psychologically necessary), picked up clothes, washed, dried, hoovered, scrubbed, and thrown away.
I was planning to spend the afternoon engaged in
further self-flagellation scrubbing the grouting with a toothbrush, but I can’t bear it any more. Every corner of every room is full of reminders.
Weapons, art in progress, medicines, books, favourite clothes and blankets, stones and shells carried home from long ago holidays.
I miss them so much right now, that I can’t bear it here.
OK. Self-pitying whinge over. I’m going to get myself out. I’m sure fresh air and exercise will make it all better. I’ll polish the skirting boards later…