Byron - "If I don't write to empty my mind, I go mad."

Apparently, Lord Byron said that.

I say apparently, because I wasn't there, and I read that on the internet. 

I have been doing really well on the Hal Elrod Miracle Morning idea, but today I had to get up and write first as I had a weird set of dreams last night, quite a few of which involved Rich in normal everyday stuff, the kind of stuff that you would have thought were memories, except now I think about it, I know they were dreams.  8 years this year, and I still miss him. 
They have discombobulated me, and as I write, they are fading and this makes me sad, because I could see his face and hear his voice and even my writing is stop start.  I am sitting, eyes unfocused, relying on touch type and not even looking at the screen with any clarity whilst I try and stablise myself.  I miss him.  I miss his friendship, his humour, his smile, his eyes, the himness of him.  I miss the other trouser leg of time, which I can't miss, because I haven't done it, but I miss the more children, the moving houses, the experiences we would have had, had. he not have had his accident.

It doesn't mean I am dissatisfied with this trouser leg of time though.  I love this house, I love being with Jack, I love the boys and the animals and the VW shows and the things that *we* do together.  I am apparently able to do both - love what I have and miss what could have been.  Is this a talent?  I don't know!

I know I am tired, and soul-heavy, and I was supposed to be dumping all of the escapees from That Planet at a refugee station this morning, but they might have to all stay together a little longer. I've kept going with the story I started the other day.  I like it.  It's tosh, but I like it. I might see if this one will go the distance.  I've also printed out a full copy of my NaNoWriMo story to edit.  And I've helped to write a 5,000 word essay on the nature of mathematical research and how it can be analysed.  That was not the most exciting thing I've done this week.

I was going to look for a prompt and write, but I am still cottonwool head, so I am going to end this here, drink my far-too-hot-Chai and think.

In so many ways I am the luckiest of souls - I have loved so deeply and been loved so amazingly in return more than once.  Today, I'm stuck on the bridge between past love and now love.  Poohsticks it is then...