Mourning and weeping in this vale of tears.

Yep, that's me. Pile on the cliches. I'd like to cheer up, but it won't happen for some time to come.

I am not very good at being depressed. Usually I can't stand it, so I have to cheer up.

But this is different.

Of course it is different. And the prospect of it going on and on, with a whole lot of unpleasantness from the other side, and having to counter it, and, one hopes, to be able to sing We shall Overcome in triumph and conviction, is somehow incredibly daunting.

Pile on the cliches. Fling self on bed and burst into wild sobs. Sit on bus while tears trickle down face. Listen to music, much of which has the same effect. Buy shares in tissue companies? Buy black clothes and appear sombrely dressed? Take used spectacles into shop, and say brightly husband won't be needing them any more?

It can indeed be very tedious. Yesterday it was my turn to present the argomento at the Italian class. It took me forever to write it, and much re-writing as well. It was to have been last week, but another of the class could not come for the next two weeks, and so she jumped the queue. I had done some of the re-writing, and then went to print it out, so that everyone could follow it, and note the inevitable and numerous corrections. The printer went a bit haywire and page 3 came out blank. I fiddled with the layout, and then the colour ink tank ran dry. I did not realise that colour was needed in order to print black. The argomento had to be emailed to my newer computer, so that I could print out from that one. And after all that, I did not need it that day.

Never mind. The argomento was too long, so I had the chance to edit, correct and rewrite. It all went quite well. The major errors we all make are in the use of prepositions. Some verbs take a preposition if an infinitive verb follows. Some don't. But which verbs, and which prepositions?

Just as the class was finishing, my eyes went wonky and a migraine came upon me. That put paid to my vague plan to go and see a film on the way home. I did go to choir for a while, as the conductor wanted to 'voice' us all, to place us in what she considers to be the best possible position for the overall sound. Once that was done, I went home.

The migraine persisted, so I missed the day's activities, instead spending much time in bed, taking painkillers, trying to sleep, while feeling very extremely sorry for myself. Eventually I went out and bought some food, and have been sitting around watching crap TV - the sort which enables you to sit back and wonder how some people can be so idiotic.  (Feed the inner grump. Not so inner, either.) Wondering why idiot females put their two to five year old daughters into beauty pageants, with teased, curled and back-combed hair, replete with tiaras, spangles, frills, bows, ribbons and flounces and MAKEUP, and then get all hostile and bitchy because the ill-begotten judges gave the top prizes to other children. (I can tolerate only ten minutes of such a programme, then I have to find some other sort of mindless junk.)

Thoughts to cheer myself up:

I don't have to buy daggy shorts, t-shirts and underpants any more.
Nor do we need copious quantities of orange juice.
Shopping takes much less time, and weighs much less.
Trips to the pharmacy have become much less frequent.
There is considerably less housework and washing to do.
The physical burden is much less.
Bathrooms and toilets stay clean.
I don't have to hurry home any more.
I can make lengthy telephone calls without being harassed.
All the worry, anxiety and grief, have made me lose a lot of weight. I don't recommend this as a technique, mind.

And

He was lucky not to live on getting worse and worse. He really was.

On the other hand:

He is dead.
I miss him.
We cannot hold each other any more.
The house feels so empty.
We can't discuss politics any more.
Election night was much worse than it would have been had we watched together.
My mind keeps going into What If mode.
There are so many decisions to be made.
The year ahead of me will probably be quite atrocious.
I have to write another letter to my BIL giving details of all the bills and checking which ones I need to pay.
A reminder came for the funeral bill.

Reality stares me in the face. And bites and mauls me.