It's been an utterly horrible week.  I don't think I can put it any other way.  Most of it seems to have passed in a sea of foggy grief.  

A couple of things have exacerbated it.  Firstly, this seems to be the latest in a long string of deaths - starting in 2012 with Paula, then being followed by Dad, uncle Peter, Margaret, aunty Janet, aunty Floss and now Jonathan.  Jonathan's funeral on Friday will be the fourth one I've attended in six months.  The last two years have taken a very heavy emotional toll, and one of the odd things about grief is that each successive bereavement seems to make the pain of the previous ones worse rather than easier to bear.  

In the meantime, of course, normal life has to simply continue, and for the business that has meant maintaining our presence on Facebook.  That's been awful this week since this stupid craze has been doing the rounds of people doing no make up selfies for "cancer awareness".  Quite frankly, I just about feel ready to punch anyone who suggests I need my awareness raising, and that's before I get on the issue of not wearing make up. 

There is nothing brave about not wearing make up.  OK, I'll happily accept that  there are a tiny number of women who wear make up to conceal scarring, birth marks etc - for them, yes, different issues. But for most women, I can't see anything brave at all, and in comparing this even tangentially to the bravery of cancer patients seems wrong and narcissistic.  

I spend most of the time completely make up free and will wear it occasionally for nights out or special occasions but don't feel I need it.  I am not conventionally pretty, I am pushing 50, my skin is average, I have wrinkles and spots and scars and dark circles under my eyes - that's who I am.  Make up is like wearing a special evening dress - it's a nice treat but I'm under no illusion about it's magic powers of transformation.     It strkes me as a sad indictment of how far women have to go if we applaud their courage in not wearing make up - because that would be suggesting that our appearance is still our most important feature, not our character or our achievements, but our adherence to some artificial standard of beauty.  

Thinking about it, most of my female friends also don't wear make up or like me wear it infrequently - clearly we are all bottom of the class for being good, decorative little women.  

What has helped this week?  A couple of things.  Listening to Wagner. The dogs.  Going on a course yesterday at Busy Bees that I'd booked last year and really enjoyed.  Thinking about it, most of the women on the course weren't wearing make up, and quite a few of us were wearing sensible shoes. 

This week has been one of those times for feeling completely out of step with a wider culture - I'm sensible enough to know this feeling will pass and a lot of it is fuelled by grief which is making me particularly raw at the moment.   Fundamentally I'm happy and comfortable in my own skin - both literally and metaphorically.