Mondays aren't the only rainy days

No matter how much I fool myself into thinking how well I am doing on my journey, some days put the lie to that notion.  This is one of those times. It began when I was going through the piles of correspondence, OK bills(!) on the desk and unexpectedly came across a notation Ben had made. Nothing special, but it was his writing and I was startled by it as well as the force of  my reaction. Do you ever wonder who holds sobbing widows? No one. It is a most unpleasant experience to realize that and each time I've met that moment  I have resolved to try not to go there again. I can't seem to get away from it since last night, however.  I had accomplished a lot of work in the business of death for one day. The fed gov't is beginning to know I exist and is filling my mailbox and giving me passwords to key in on the computer. I traced out a couple of accounts and paid them. I found another copy of the certified death certificates and sent it off to close another piece of business.
I had had a conversation re the positive power of production earlier this week, applying it to the benefit of getting my house in physical and financial order and being rather smug, upon reflection , about how good it was for me. Bolderdash! The duality of poles - things pulling one forward while one is tugging backward to how things had been has smote me before and will most likely do it again. On the day I sold the truck I should have felt only relief and a little joy, I did but I also felt I was being shoved further and further away from where I had been with Ben and that airbrushed the day with sorrow.
One could look at it as a little bit of physics - to every action there is another and equal reaction, but for once physics fails me. It is too clinical. This is about irrationaltiy.
I feel like the MO Park Ranger I met years ago during one of the Pershing Balloon races. It had been a rainy, muddy weekend scrubbing all the flights so that we were compelled to turn our collective attention elsewhere. The muddy hillsides formerly covered in lush grass came to mind so we held mudslide races of various kinds, by gender, age, singles, groups, forward, backward (get the idea and a notion of the number of runs made - sort of an Olympic trials of mudsliding) down the hill - until, along came the ranger. He was livid and overexcited and shrieking "You're ADULTS!. . . . .Stop it now!!!" Our erstwhile balloonmeister tried to help the situation and asked what we could do to fix things, say like putting down new grass. No, this man would not be appeased, "I want it back to what it was!" he yelled.
That's me, I want it back to what it was.