I thought I was OK

After eight hours of blissful (assisted … Thank you Bea) sleep on Saturday night, I was feeling pretty damn good. I thought. The new house was almost unpacked (thank you – again – Fee, Hels, Wendy, Mum, Dad and Adrian); it was looking very cosy, the kids were delighted with their new rooms, and Husband even came over to hook up the TV, stereo, gas heater and dryer, then took us out for yum cha.

Because I am terrible at holding grudges, I cheerily chatted to him throughout the whole hooking up process – which, due to delayed guilt, he performed with remarkably good grace – and we all had a lovely lunch together.

Then I offered to have the kids while he did his grocery shopping and he picked me up some power boards – the rental has a single point per room on average – and dishwasher powder. As he was dropping them off and collecting the kids, my sister arrived to check out my new pad. Since Husband and my sister no longer speak – she’s much better at holding grudges than me – so Husband lurked in the first born’s bedroom until she’d passed through, then skedaddled.

Sister and I parked ourselves on the couch for a gossip about her trip to Hong Kong – she got back Saturday night – and my move. And suddenly I burst into tears. It startled me a bit as I thought I was fine.

She assured me that she found herself crying at unexpected moments for years after her divorce. Just because you’re on your own and it’s bloody hard.

As she was leaving, with promises of an exciting housewarming gift, my friends Alice and Emily turned up to take me to the movies. We saw Sex Tape, which wasn’t as terrible as I’d heard, though seeing Cameron Diaz’s body is a little heartwrenching considering she’s only a few years younger than me.

And I was fine again. Maybe a teensy weensy bit maudlin, but mainly fine. And I think that’s how I’ll be for a while – mainly fine. But give me a hug if you see me, I’m rather fond of them these days.