I can’t sleep.

I hate December.

When will it get better?

I threw out the last heartrocks in my collection today. I don’t think he ever knew I was collecting them. My daughter got into it for a bit and was enthused for a while, but it didn’t last. Every vehicle I’ve ever driven for work has (had) at least one heartrock in it. I wasn’t planning to collect them initially but I have an affinity with rocks and minerals and my eyes would automatically pick up the shape.

I really didn’t know it was a legitimate (slightly obssessive) collector’s category until I read a novel that had the main character collecting heart shaped rocks and she was surprised that other people did it too. Me too.

(I wish I could remember the author or the title; she wrote about death and dying and life afterwards in a way that still resonates with me).

You’d think that I would have stopped collecting when he died. No. It took me until this last couple of months to stop, realising that rock shaped images of idealised hearts, as love would make them, didn’t fix any memories in stone, or even at all.

I threw them all away. 

I seeded them in the car park I leave my car in when I go to work. I dropped some in the large memorial fountain at the end of my street. I slipped them in the duck pond in the park next to where I live. I slyly placed them in the glove boxes of buses that drivers (friends of mine) of rival companies managed.

I inserted them in the soil of potplants, struggling under my khaki camoflagued thumb. I carried them in my handbag. I threw one of each into the main river and one of the beaches.

Heart rocks were the perfect obsession for somebody as sad and guilty and peripatetic as I was. The perfect hobby. I looked for them everywhere and I mostly found them. I usually didn’t talk about them because I thought that people would think that I was slightly deranged. Not such an unreasonable premise, given my behaviour.

I think I wanted them so much, and was so focused on finding them, because I subconsciously associated them as tangible proof of my feelings for him. LOOK!!!!: engraved in solid stone! MUST MEAN SOMETHING!)

For fuck’s sake; we all know how much I loved him.

I am so pissed off with my subconscious right now.

It is not helping me move on.


About quirkycharm

I like to think that I have a certain quirky charm but I am probably being optimistic. Acquired taste, perhaps, which many don't acquire. This is about my fifth blog out there. My hosting companies kept going out of business or my IT exhusband kept hacking into them and I would move again. I don't do twitter, I barely do facebook, I don't try and 'monetize' my blog. I love my husband, my grown children and my job and this particular incarnation of oversharing my life comes at a time when I am the most content that I have ever been. I write always, sporadically during the good stuff and exhaustingly during the bad.
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