I want him to shut his fake-tanned face!
There he is, after a near death experience, singing to the world about how he's still here, still alive, he has so much to do that he hasn't yet done.
Please George, I say this with love, fuck off!
As of today, John has been dead for 3 months, a quarter of a year.
John fell ill 4 months ago today, a third of a year.
Each and every day I say to myself that he shouldn't have gone yet, he had so much to do, so many plans left unrealised.
I had so much more love to give him, it still pours out of me....along with the tears!
And here we have poor old George bleating on about how fucking lucky he is to be alive.
I want to throttle him!!!!
From a sensible perspective, I know it's not George's fault that my Hubby died and I know that George doesn't even know I or John exist so my 'hatred' of him is, I know, misplaced.
But, I cannot help it.
As soon as I hear the new record I want to scream at him to stop, tell him to shut up, tell him to stop reminding me of how fucking lucky he is because it only reminds me of how fucking unlucky John was that he died, of how fucking unlucky we are to not have him!!!!!!
I am so jealous of George for being alive.
Seriously, even seeing his picture activates the green monster inside and I am filled with rage and anguish that George is alive and John is not (is it me or do I sound like a gay Hulk?!)...
In the last 3 months I have sorted out so much of John's and yet there is still so much of him here.
I still cannot bring myself to empty his pill drawer, that one is just too painful to consider at the moment.
Although I am no clinician, I am of the opinion that because of the amounts he took on a daily basis, they contributed to the condition that ultimately killed him.
The chest of drawers is like 'the murderer in the room', something I cannot even acknowledge.....yet.
So.....I will leave you with George's most recent offering......(which, bizarrely, I actually like!).