The Only Way Out Is Through

I’m glad to say my difficult weekend is now in the past and I could dwell on how painful it was (and believe me I have) but that would defeat the benefit of it now being in the past.  My plan was to do something everyday to define each day with a presence rather than an absence. So I had all sorts of little activities in mind mostly revolving around wellbeing – the usual stuff like Yoga and meditation, talking to friends but that did not happen.  It all went ping pong before it even started.  I’d been invited out to an 80’s night at Floridita in Wardour St. on Thursday and I remembered it being totes amazebots the last time we went so I was there with knobs on.   The point being that I was determined to do something from Thursday to Sunday, with friends preferably to blot out or at least soften the blow of this first weekend I faced as a person who now has to share something very precious to her with someone who no longer is.  I’m being vague, I know, but I’m in disbelief that I am here, so indulge me a little until I am strong enough to say the words.  Long story short, I got drunkety drunk drunk that Thursday (so much for my high minded plan).  This for a person that has been either teetotal or taken the tiniest Posh Spice sips at people’s birthdays was the worst thing I could have done but I was caught up in the pain and the pleasure with good friends who all knew I was facing a demon filled weekend and wanted to help in the only way a bunch of PR girls know how.   The evidence of just how incredibly “helped” I had been was strewn around the house the following morning – not that I really got to see it properly until well into the afternoon as I simply could not stand up straight.  I think I was also ill with a type of throat infection – one of those 24 hour things.  Suffice to say Friday was a write-off.  Except for having to drag, and I mean drag, my repentant shell to deliver a Halloween costume, I did nothing all day but stare at the ceiling.  Small mercy then that Friday just slipped by in the way a yogi should never allow.  But then again, at the time, not that I had much of a choice, but even if I’d had any say in it, I would have chosen this emotionless abyss (if you don't count the daily sob).  That night was a lonely fade to black.  I was determined to do better the next day.  While I felt recovered, I was not yet strong enough to get back “on the mat” so to speak.  I let the hours slip by, staring ahead at the TV.  Again, the worst thing possible but sickness was a friend that day and I forgave myself for doing nothing two days in a row.  I had one appointment that evening, to meet a friend over from Ireland for dinner.  I am so glad for this.  That was one less evening of either watching TV at 90 degree angles or the cold sweats in bed.  So within the blink of an eye it was Sunday and that meant one more sleep away from a better week.  I did make it to yoga that last day and I made sure to be fully present.  Being present really does deliver in that it just feels like time well spent.  Nothing more, nothing less.  I also took my merry old time in Sainsburys – an activity I used to (and I’m sure will again) loathe.  Actually that will be my gauge that I’m starting to feel normal again.  The day I switch back to having groceries delivered, I’ll know I’m on the mend.