Good Grief 272

I was working in one of the 'cells' today with no window except for a high skylight. I put my head down and got on with it. Cracked on with backlog of notes from yesterday, seeing folk, a pile of letters and discussed referrals. Things seem to get ever more complex.

At about half five or so the corridors had emptied. I unplugged Baden-Powell who had kept me company as I beavered away, and acknowledged the dread. I had a small plan to encourage the transition and successfully executed it but even so as I got closer to home I found myself slowing down. The world rushed passed and along on their way to all those 'somewheres'. I pulled over and cried. It was very reminiscent of occasions past when we have tried to slow down the emerging reality of what faced us - when G and I heard the news at the hospital and a forty minute journey took us hours. As if not going home might suspend us somehow. And so many journeys for P and I. So many moments of suspended time and not wanting what we knew lay ahead. The magical thinking of, if I stay in a layby it can't happen.
As I sat in this lay-by the huge skyscape around me was dramatic and beautiful. The heavy air drew down swallows that weaved all around me ...it was all rather spectacularly magestic....
http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=zc1Zoz-NUro

Postscript at 4am...went to bed at midnight, tired eyed but fearful of another poor night, which, of course, becomes self fulfilling. Awake and sweating at 2 and again, now, at 4. Agitated. It was at this time I was speeding back to the hospital having only just come away. It's all so pointless. It's all so past. Why does my body feel it as if it was now. I know it....
I was going to say I knew something, but I don't, I don't know anything (other than my body won't settle). It's crazy, and beyond exhausting.