Another quiet Sunday

Dearest,
            Maybe I don’t like these quiet Sundays. Maybe they’re not good for me. Maybe I should keep my butt so busy that I don’t have time to think. Thinking may not be so good for me. I would’ve spent the day mowing but, the lawn mower is broken and back in the shop again.
            I am trying to figure out why I can’t get past this. This grieving stuff. Obviously I don’t want to, but why? Somehow it feels important, I know it’s not important to you so why is it important to me? Does it make me feel important somehow? Am I being a victim here? Do I think that I deserve this? Is it guilt? Do I think that, in some way, I owe it to you? Does it fulfill some inner vision of myself that I have? Am I afraid? Oh yeah, definitely, but of what? It’s not like me to hide, to avoid the risks just because they’re there. Why am I doing it now? Grief feels bigger than me, bigger than life. I think maybe I should get my shit together and try to make some sense out of what little time I have left. Maybe it’s time to gather stones together. Most definitely I have to stop sitting around listening to The Byrds on Sundays.
 
As Always, Your Ken