So. The sale is done.
All last night I dreamed of the house, of forgetting things in it, of strangers striding through it. . . . And today is day one of never going back.
I wonder what I will do with myself today. I feel too large for my own skin.
I suppose this is where chores come in. Dusting and sweeping as a patch for bereavement. Something, anything, to take care of.