9 February 2009 – breaking down

Manic cleaning

Manic cleaning

I woke up this morning at the time my alarm would normally go off. I don’t know what happened to the weekend. It’s a blur of tears and hugs and worried faces. I got up. I don’t know why. Commando was surprised to see me when he came in from work. “Go back to bed,” he said. I didn’t though. I showered. I made breakfast. I looked at it. I didn’t eat it. There seems to be a lump of something in my chest. I can’t get food to go past it. I put on make up. I put on my coat. I went out. I walked. I walked for miles. I don’t know where I went. I came back. I started cleaning the kitchen. I cleaned out all the drawers. Years worth of mess, gone. I couldn’t stop.

All the time in my mind I was going over what Robert said. …most difficult decisions of all…how hard you’ve worked…results you’ve got… What did it mean? Was there some kind of message there? Your job is at risk of redundancy. At risk. Thirty day consultation period. Put your case. Only at risk. I had a chance to put my case. Could I save my job? I cleaned and I scrubbed. The kitchen sparkled. I moved to the gym. I started cleaning. My emotions were up and down. I’d lost my job. I might not have lost my job. It was out of my hands. I could change their minds. At risk. The words at risk kept coming into my head again and again. That and Gigi’s anguished face.

When Commando got up he tried to make me sit down. I kept cleaning. I emptied out the ‘drawer of random things’. A tangle of chargers and leads. Pens. Cotton reels. Safety pins. Rubbish. Commando came and almost carried me to the living room and sat me in the chair. He bought me a coffee. I couldn’t sit still. My legs were tapping. My hands were shaking. I couldn’t make the coffee go past the lump in my chest. It went cold. I got up and went back to the gym and the tangle of rubbish on the floor. Commando tore at his hair.

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