My brain is full of bees

I had a moment, this morning, as I worked through my morning chores. A moment of wistfully thinking about being hospitalised with something not serious.

Then of course I realised I was just very sad, and very tired, and hospital doesn’t have all of my favourite things like cats who sleep on my face and emotional support books and proper cups of tea.

It also doesn’t have children who cook dinner, or food I can actually eat, or a husband I can bury my face in.

So. Hospital is actually no thank you.

We collected Mum’s ashes yesterday, and the whole thing still feels surreal. Like, no, she died, but surely not? Surely I am not balancing my emotional support books on top of a tube of my actual mother.

But my calendar is full of lawyers appointments, and my tiny tabletop contains certified copies of a death certificate which is actually on its way to the supreme court.

And my brain is full of bees and buzzing.

There has been too much death. I am too tired for this.

I just want a warm house to live in, and the last 2 years to have not happened. Surely that’s not too much to ask. Surely.

I’ll take her ashes around to Dad sometime soon, and tidy my tiny table and store death certificates where I can’t see them until I need them, amongst all my paperwork.

I probably need some kittens. Or to cry. Or my brain to actually leak out of my ears the way it feels like it is already.