It feels very much like Monday. I'm back at work, back for the first time since last Wednesday afternoon, when I left early to take Heather to the doctor. The cup of coffee left on my desk had dried out, turning into a 1/4 " thick sludge. I had been monitoring my e-mail, so at least there weren't 100 unread messages, but I'm still feeling very uncentered. I don't know what I should be doing. I can't find a routine, a groove, something repetitive enough to occupy my brain. Thinking is painful. I wish I could have just stayed in bed, but that's no good either. I have to make the effort. I have to at least act like I'm functioning well. The problem with grief is that it is cumulative - each new heartache brings back memories of old heartaches, so that everything seems to well up at once, even things long settled in the heart. They all come back anew to haunt the soul.

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