So it's been a week already. I've discovered that losing Mr. B has been a lot like getting dumped -- and dumped hard -- except I can't be mad at him or key his car or anything. All I can do is FEEL, and feel the feelings about my feelings. It's freaking exhausting.
Evil Twin coined the term "Emotional Whack-a-Mole" and that pretty much sums it up. I'll be at the store or sitting at the hairstylists and all of a sudden, POW!! An emotional mole pops out of the Mr. B-shaped hole and knocks me on my ass.
Pretty soon I'll have to go back to work and such, but right now all I want to do is sit here and stare into space and drink Diet Coke and occasionally eat toast. As long as I'm in my little Cone of Silence, removed from Real Life, the emo-moles stay pretty quiet.
I have made some small progress, though: I no longer feel compelled to hold the box of his ashes on my lap all day. Seriously, I did that the first few days after I picked it up and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. I do still talk to it sometimes, but don't tell anyone, OK?