Welcome back, Femicas.

No more hiding behind private blogs where I could get feedback from readers across the continent who knew nothing about me. For the record – for all of you who spent much time wondering what my blogging name used to be – it was Brushups . I’m going to go at this again – I’m not sure with how much force – but I enjoyed it. I like to write… I like to blend into the rest of the world – and both of those lead to the logical decision of making another blog!

So I have a had day to myself. Something that is very rare. Something that I thought that I would enjoy. Instead, I found myself antsy and pacing and wondering what to do with myself. I promised myself that I would not be productive in any sense – unless it had to do with me and me alone. So I was allowed to clean my car, do laundry, putter in the kitchen… Etc etc. No courses, No organizing volunteer stuff, No “nothing” of the sort.

I started off the day at the funeral home. A family arrangement, followed by the graveside. Family was really nice. Really down to earth. Lost their boy… I was detached somehow. Detached of my job. I think, what makes me a good funeral director – is that usually, in my own little world. I am part of their family. They need me, and I need to help them. I want them to like me and understand that I will do all in my power to make things better for them. Make things run smoothly. Usually I can remain Funeralesque through the most heartfelt arrangements, heart breaking services, deafening sobs of loved ones, and sometimes even screams. Today, for some odd reason, I’m standing by the niche listening to a distant Anglican service watching the father cry and I was thinking… “What am I thinking? I can’t help him. He just lost his boy! Who the hell am I?” … and I just stood there… Waiting for my cue of “Earth to earth… Ashes to Ashes… Dust to dust”… I drew a perfect cross on the urn and skulked back to my side of the niche. I felt useless. The committal ends… The father cries, the wife hands him a Kleenex and a pat on the elbow – and I could just stand there. They walk over and give me a giant hug. Saying how I made things so much easier, and how talking to me gave them comfort and understanding, and they appreciated all that I had done for them. They thanked me again, and turned to walk away.

I heard this from them yet today it was not sinking in.

Maybe I am detached because I’ve been submersed into other things lately? Maybe I doubt myself because of the lack of work out there? I know this was just a passing thing. I am too passionate about my work. I’d breathe it if I could. I think I just miss it. I think that’s it.