Victoria & Albert

I've spent the last 7.5 hours cleaning upstairs.
My bedroom has not been this neat since 2009.

I so far have one 30gal bag filled with things to donate, a bunch of books to shelve, and three 30 gal bags of trash to go out.
I've also done 3 loads of laundry so far, and have one more to wash and two loads to dry tonight. I have decided to take a break tomorrow and do stuff downstairs; clean out my fridge and wash dishes.

I hope to clean out my closet/our closet/the clothes closet before I leave on my trip in a week.

I don't know yet how I feel about this. I'm making a lot of progress towards making a house that I can function in, but I have now changed almost everything that Wash had made, touched, set, designed. His "touch" is not really here anymore.
I still have some of the things that were important to him up, and put up a few more of the notes he wrote for me.

I wish I was in a position to act like Queen Victoria, and not change a thing after Albert died; even setting out a place for him at the table and his daily clothes.
But, I can't. For many reasons from the mental to the rationally practical.
So, it's time.
I still don't know what I'm doing or where I'm going, but for the first time since he was diagnosed with terminal cancer, I'm thinking longer than 2 weeks ahead. I don't know what it is, but I can at least, on more days now that not, see that there is *something* for me.
Little changes, cleaning and organizing needed, and slowly, I'm hoping to start figuring out my life on my own.

Leto seems to be confused but interested in the changes. Aelphie is in the bathroom because the vacuum and things moving scare the shit out of her. She's a lot like her mum.


I think I'm just not processing it yet. I did it physically, but mentally, I'm leaving it to Future Tashi. I made sure to keep stuff I was not certain if I was ready to part with yet; but I've put most of that away, again, to go through when I'm mentally stronger.
The bedroom was pretty bad, because it was where Wash spent so much of the end of his life, and I could not bring myself to change much of anything.
But, I cannot live forever like he is still dying. Or imagining he is coming back. He's not. Ever.
My husband has been dead now for five months.
Dead.

I hate myself for how that word becomes easier to say. It's still hard, and I stumble a lot, but I don't avoid the word anymore.

I'm still not stable at all, financially. I need help. I finally feel though, like I might be able to do something again. I'm not certain what, but it is progress from only seeing myself in bed, crying until I pass out.