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Isa has been dead just over 2 months now. She hasn't come in a dream; she hasn't sat by my bed and stroked my hair like my grand-mother's sister did to her after her death. She didn't give me a 'sign'. She didn't let me know in some celestial way that it was ok, it wasn't my fault. She didn't do anything. She's just dead. Repeating it over and over doesn't change a thing.
What have I done in the last two months? Basically, nothing.
I have a part-time job, which I can do at home. I did that little bit, at least.
I had a thesis to finish by December. I burried myself in it at first but I haven't thought a thought about it since October. Except 'thesis to finish', followed by 'you're such a loser for not being done with your thesis yet'. Or 'lazy ass'.
I started another blog. That, I've been working on non-stop for the past week. What kind of blog? Yes, you guessed it.
I've spent the last months exponentially worrying about money because for some reason, the death of Isabelle has brought that whole situation back up.
Worry. Money. Feeling out of control. Wanting to be in control more than having money? Wanting to control how and when money comes in. Like: by a snap of the fingers into a high-class whore, stepping onto the stage. Figuratively. Just in a blog - as of now.