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the funeral is done. at least mother’s day (uk) was back in march. happy mother’s day (usa/canada). irony and i are on a break. i want to go home now.

the funeral itself was uncomfortable and weird, like most funerals are. i think i’m sad because most others in attendance weren’t sad at all.

last “night” i woke up standing in the middle of my mothers garden. i haven’t sleepwalked since i was a child. the plants were overgrown and wild, half-eaten, and there was rust and stains everywhere. for some reason it felt incredibly visceral and disgusting, like i was looking at my mothers corpse. all that she was, turned old and dead. she’d been so ignored, withered down, misunderstood. i don’t believe in spirits but if i did i hope this garden looks much different to her. i hope she can spend however long she needs amongst her flowers, back when the boxes were unblemished and the soil smelled of fresh earth in her big floppy garden hat. that would be nice.

i was wondering the correlation between “maiden” (girl) and “maid” (servant) kind of assuming it was just “servant girl” but if it was a chicken or egg situation and uh

…virgin. untried. gee, wonder why men always called their ships “she.” men really project their pedophilia into everything.

genuinely never thought i’d return to england much less suffer that flight again. i’m in my childhood home having seen faces i swore to forget and old family portraits i dreamt of burning. this is a beautiful country and i’m not who i was when i left. i might even be happy to be back, at least knowing this is just a top up before returning home. old scores are threatening to ruin my time and i certainly couldn’t handle this without my tough as nails wife being undaunted.

i’m here to attend my mothers funeral. her death was sudden and tragic, and though we had a shit relationship i’m learning a lot about her now that i’m past the anger, having learned to let go and accept, see things clearly. suppose i have radblr to thank for a portion of that. i have new anger now, of course, that we couldn’t just talk it all out. anger at her being dead now so it’s all a bit late, so to speak. it’s all sorted and then while i was trying to ring her to tell her i’d like to mend things she’s here alone, dying in hospital. i wonder if she knew. i’ll never know. spiteful woman she was, thought she’d pop off before a serious talk. i want to say she had a hand in who i am now, but i’m unsure. that’s hollow.