It was a strange Easter weekend. I did lots and, at the same time, did little. Had a couple of dinner and lunch dates, which were lovely, and then spent some me time, alone, at home, doing, well, um, nothing (except watching Season 1 and 2 of Green Wing. In their entirety).
I was feeling a little out-of-sorts you see, and anti-social, and wasn't sure why. Sunday night I got very little sleep, due to a combination of things, and my inherent worriededness. I realised, on reflection, that, while I generally count myself as happy-go-lucky, I am forever thinking I don't deserve the happiness I get. And then, as a result, I seem to think it's going to be taken away from me. It's terrifying.
Good grief, I had NO idea what I was going to write about today, and have never admitted to anybody that I have this crippling terror. Just goes to show what comes from just blurting out 'stuff' as opposed to thinking before writing.
Is this a result of my own personal tragedy, or was this there before? I honestly can't tell. But I can tell you that it’s very definitely there now. And I’m not entirely sure how to make it go away, now that I’ve acknowledged it’s presence. It’s sitting there in one of the (many) back corridors of my mind. It’s a dark, gloopy place, filled with fear and tears.
I wonder if there’s some kind of vacuum cleaner for such places?