Missing?

The house is quiet except for the blare of the TV; I feel something is missing.

Two empty bowls on the floor, an empty cat house in the corner, cold and unused. These things are ghostly and I'm starting to feel quite fragile... Hopefully next week his ashes will arrive back from the crematorium; it's the perfect excuse for a weekend in Wilson's Prom where we could could have sex on Mt Oberon scatter his ashes. But cats hate water, a friend pointed out. Daniel jokingly said there's no way he'd put the ashes over our doona (his favourite afternoon-nap surface).

I'm not taking this grieving process seriously. I'm joking about it then quickly changing the topic to distract myself, or finding other things to obsess about. In short I haven't identified my feelings - that's what the shrink is for. He (the shrink) seems content I can keep talking and doesn't bother interjecting me. How is that helpful? And that CCB charges for every session (damn the government doesn't pay for it). Suddenly I'm wondering why this healing process should fucking cost me more money after the vet bill fiasco; maybe the real lesson is learning how to not panic when I need to spend.