Shambling onward toward the unknown

This new cycle of grief and loneliness is distressing.  Words such as pendulum, rollercoaster, waves, we have heard them all.  All have a ring of truth, but nothing encompasses the whole.  Ups and downs, highs and lows?  More like slow tides, rising and falling, with eddies and currents ready to sweep me into the depths, then when I drown, crushed in the ocean of grief, in a flash I find myself instead gasping for air cast onto a strange sandy shore.  Sometimes I can sit on a rock and watch my daily activities dispassionately, sometimes I am the flotsam, pushed and pulled until I land on a random shoal like a forgotten flip-flop fallen from a fisherman's foot.  Certainly, I am not in control much of the time.

The terrible weekend bled over into a monstrous Monday.  Tuesday was more productive, as was Wednesday, but I can tell my brain is stressed and not in proper working order.  I make mistakes.  I am forgetful.  So easy to dive into social media and ignore the world.  Ignore the pain of Larry not being here. I want to put my arms around him and feel that slender lithe body, those strong muscles, that tickly beard.  To listen to his breath, his heartbeat.  I know I felt that one. Last. Heartbeat.  But there were supposed to be so many more.  I can't fathom this some moments. 

I painted a little.  Nothing new, just a redo of an older painting.  I touched paint, so there's progress.  I wrote to Lonny, but I am still putting off holiday cards.  I adulted, some of which I shouldn;t need to be doing at all.  Stupid adulting.

I don't know how to swim, so how can I escape this vicious riptide?  Where this ends up is hard to grasp.