***
The morning of the funeral finally comes around, and I wake up with only that vague sense of dread that’s normal for me. I really want it to feel like a black day, but ever since Bastian’s death I’ve just done normal things – normal talking and normal eating and texting people and getting dressed and stuff. And I’ve had so long off work that I regret asking for any time in the first place. The fact I’m beginning to realise about myself – just another minor epiphany, no big deal – is that I need work to keep me motivated. Without it I just sit around in the flat, forgetting to get anything done. I have no motivation and without some deadline forcing me to pull it together I do nothing. And while I can’t exactly call what I’ve been doing “grieving”, because I’m still scared at the lack
