Treadmills Make Me Cry

Yesterday was a bad day in the land of grief. Maybe it was because it was the 2 month anniversary of the last time I saw Nevada and wished her a good trip and hugged her goodbye.

I don't know. I can't say any day since she's died has been a trip to bountiful, but some days are easier than others. Yesterday just wasn't one of those days. I cried on my way to work.

Then held it in all day and even managed to celebrate with my good friend here at work for her birthday and faked my way through a client meeting, where I answered questions and appeared knowledgeable.

After work, free again in my own car, it was cry fest again. Not heaving sobs, as that's no good for driving, but just the normal about of tears.

Last night I found myself at the grocery store. Buying beer on sale and price checking the Irish cream (must run in the family LQ), but I opted to wait on that. I've already been through a jug of that, post Nevada and well, it's pretty fattening I suspect.

But damn it's tasty... Came home and it was more sadness. At this point I gave up trying to trick my brain into watching a stupid sitcom or distracting myself. I was beyond that point.

As I mentioned on Nevada's facebook page yesterday:

The highlight of my day was that my poison ring arrived early so I can put her ashes in it, and part of her will always be with me.

That was also my lowest point. A ring to carry one of my best friend's ashes in.

Her ashes? FUCK.

This morning, in true Irish stubbornness, I decide I'll start back to the gym.

Turns out, I can cry pretty good while on the treadmill. And this morning it was a whole parade of dead people. Derek, Rachel's husband, My Godfather and Uncle Joe, and Nevada that was on my mind.

But hey, at least I started back to the gym and apparently I can multi-task.