First browsing through halls and more halls of lovely stuff, then coffee, water, salad and a hamburger for the husband.
It felt like the husband and I were having an illicit affair, sneaking away together for a stolen outing, sans enfants.
A good conversation about me, myself and my burn-out and how I deflect any mention of emotion with humour.
It's true.
I haven't felt anything in years, it seems.
I don't know how to fix this.
Meanwhile, my dad is losing his ability to chew or swallow.
He drinks minute amounts of liquid, will perhaps swallow a teaspoon of food at any meal.
His skin turns blue on his feet and knees, and my mother massages them back to a good, rosy colour.
I don't know what to say.
Tonight I'm driving to Utrecht to buy two second-hand Wassily Chairs for our empty living room.
But first kids to cart off to school, a day at work, then a meeting with my work coach, and home again for dinner.
Breathe.
Just breathe.
.
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