Place your finger randomly on the page in front of you. Your finger will have landed on a word or words. Write the word down, as well as the 3 words preceding it. You now have a 7-word phrase. Write this down & once you have written it, keep writing for 5 mins. You must not stop writing & you must not think. Try to write as fast as you can. You are not producing a work of art.
Book: Grief is the Thing with Feathers – Max Porter
Death felt fourth-dimensional, abstract, faintly familiar.
Scary as it was, there was something oddly comforting about greeting death at the door – almost reassuring, in fact. After seeing my husband in his skeletal cancerous state, I often wished for it to be over for him. That was, however, after I spent five years praying and begging for his recovery, but to no avail. However, nobody could have ever prepared me for the turmoil that was to be the process of grieving.
I had never smoked in my life, but I now found myself hanging out of the window, inhaling the poison from clumsily made roll-ups. He died because of this very habit, so why did I wish to follow suit? I missed him unbearably, that was the problem. I tricked myself into believing he wasn’t really gone, and that I could just get out of this world and into the afterlife just as easily as he eventually did. But again, it was to no avail. I coughed, cried a little, cursed my love for not quitting his addiction earlier, then cried again until I vomited.
This was my life now, clearly, or lack thereof.