Why is it--when someone in the family dies--that I am not allowed to get any freakin' sleep? What sinister force denies me the ability to rest when I most sorely need it, making an already difficult situation even harder?
Though Mrs. Fungus and I did go to bed earlier than normal, I could not sleep. Again. *sigh* This time I took a Xanax, and that eventually let me fall asleep, and I slept pretty well.
On the plus side, though, I cleaned the bathroom yesterday evening. The floor has been bothering me for at least a month, because there was this one patch where I used to keep the cats' water dish that was crummier than the rest, and I happened to notice it perhaps five weeks ago. I got a bucket of water and an old sponge and scrubbed the floor; that prompted me to clean the rest of the bathroom as well. The manual labor took my mind off my woes, and the bathroom looks fantastic.
Today's big project is to clean the kitchen. Mostly this consists of getting the dishes dealt with, but as long as I'm in a cleaning mode I may as well do the floor, as it's been a while since I did anything more than sweep.
I called off work today. My wife expressed astonishment that I even went to work yesterday; when she advised me (Thu night) to call off Friday I said I had to go and work. Well, it turned out that she was right and I was wrong; I'm pretty sure I didn't do my best work yesterday. I can show up and do my thing, but it's hard to gut it up and be in top form when you're operating on three hours of sleep (probably less) and in mourning.
But because there's so much that needs doing, I heeded her advice and called off work today last night, giving them perhaps twenty-two hours' notice.
Besides everything else that needs doing, I had hoped to go get my hair cut today, but then I had a look at the old bank balance--whew. I still need to pick up RX refills, and the Jeep needs gas, so....