Diary

23rd September
Grief...
I don't know, I wonder, if there's ever an end to it.
I had an impulse, put on an old Dylan record. And "Lay lady lay" had me weeping uncontrollably.
Because we used to have a big brass bed.
In Roslin, in the bedroom where the ice formed on the inside of the windows in winter.
But we loved that bed...
I had been going to go out this morning, but the rain looked threatening, so I stayed inside.
I began to feel my heart beating. Palpitations again...
It was hard to move, hard to do anything.
I went downstairs, in the end, and monitored my blood pressure. It was normal. My pulse was normal.
I got dressed and went out on my bike.
I had no goats cheese to put in with the roasted peppers, so I planned to get some.
And then I couldn't bear to come back, and cycled off in a fairly random direction past the Easter Road stadium. Where the crowd was roaring.
Roaring as if there was nothing as unbearable as solitude.
And then into an unknown area down by the docks, which turned out to be a cul de sac, so I had to turn back and be engulfed in memories again.
The time we cycled down here together one Sunday.
The time, a long time befor, when we'd walk our alsatian, Nicky, down to be with Ji,,y Quigley.
The time we.. and I wonder if they ever stop this mocking, these memories, these useless reminders of disappeared happiness.