So, two days of not sculpting, or rather, not eviscerating and knocking some other parts out of the ballpark on this guy. It is not so much that I do not want to do it, I think that I do, but it has been a very long time since I made any noise here. I am kind of shocked by that realization. I guess that habits are called habits because we just do them without noticing that we are being habitual.
Oh, sure, I walk around and even run the microwave once in a while. I open the taps and let the water gush whilst I brush my teeth and wash my face. I do laundry once a week and sometimes use the dryer, as well. But, I know better than to play music without using headphones or have the television turned up too loud when I am watching a DVD on it, which is not often, except when I bring DVDs home from the library and there is never television programs played because I do not have any connections for that.
Gosh, I want to live where I could walk in the house and make noise if I wanted, not even always because what I was doing was noisy, but sometimes just to make some sounds, you know. I want a place where I can move the furniture if I like or regulate the heating and cooling once in a damn while. I want to be able to paint or sew or do something that is not absolutely silent when I want to and not have to wait until I am alone in the joint, because I would always be alone in my own place. I want to sit and listen to music and burn incense and just groove because I am feeling cool and groovy. I want a place where I can wash the dishes any old time I feel like it, or cook smelly stuff or burn a damn soufflé, like not on purpose or anything like that, but if it happened I would not have to worry about the crap that would follow.
Instead of starting to gut this guy (the mannequin), I have been out looking for another place to live, and I am fucking doomed. I cannot find any place within my budget. Not even close. I have given up hoping to find an apartment where I could keep my cats and am now searching for any location, just a damn room or something that will allow me enough money left over for food, bus fare and meds, but nothing extra,not even a telephone.
I came home today and thought that I could find a way to stay here and just manage with everything. If I stay here I do not have to pay rent or utilities. I get to keep my cats and my art studio. I get to keep my kiln and loom and all the rest. I get to use a car so that I can go to work and trek out to see my daughter and her family, and I get help with paying for the groceries. I get to cook what I like along with the other stuff that I do not like. Well, at least as long as I do not burn anything. The only cost to being here is to be compliant. Always. Without comment. And quiet, too. I have to be quiet. In this exact moment, with no other resources, that does not seem like such a big deal, no real sacrifice. I have done it for decades, so what is a few more years. Right?
I mean, women have been making this bargain for, gosh, for most of human history, I am guessing. You do what you have to do in order to have shelter and food and health care. Anything else, you just find a way to have it. You just do. I have a friend who knows something about what being here is like and she tells me to just find a place and get out. I like that idea, but the practicality of being a senior with mobility and visual disabilities and my inability to find another paying job pretty much means that to be on my own is to live in poverty.
I know, lots of people live just wonderful lives on the kind of money that I get from my SS. I know that. I know that if I were divorced that I would qualify for financial assistance, particularly with rent and food. Maybe even health care, but the social service people with whom I have talked are not all that certain. So, yeah, I could do it just like all of the other people with limited resources do it.
And, then I sit down here at my computer and check my e-mail and I remember that when I leave I will no longer have a computer, much less Internet access. And, then there are my cats and I do not think that I could bear to be without them in my life although I know that I could do it if I had to, but, dammit, I do not want to have to give them to my friend. I have been married for 44 years, 6 months, 1 day, and a bunch of hours, minutes and seconds. I thought it was longer than that. It feels longer.
You know, it is not that I think that I deserve anything special, but living without the access to some resources that I now enjoy is a prospect that I am feeling distressed to consider.
Then, last night I had a dream. I dreamed that I was still living in this house, but that I was separated by a clear, but kind of iridescent thing. Not like a bubble, but like a sheet of something that had a discernible appearance but did not have a impervious barrier aspect to it. Ummm, like a visible thing that did not have substance. Like a cataract. Which is really funny, like fall down on the floor with laughter funny. Never mind. I do not want to talk about that now.
So, anyway, still in the dream, I am in the house here, but I can see this thing that is between me and the rest of the stuff. And, it is nice. It feels calm, peaceful. Calm. It is like I know that there are no panic attacks on this side of the thing...is it a veil or something? As long as I stay on this side of the veil I will be fine. If I walk up to the veil I am still safe. If I reach though the veil and rattle the cage of the creature who lives on the other side, then I will not be fine.
So. I have to think about remembering to stay on my side and not rattle any cages or make any noise that would indicate my presence.
In my life I have learned how to do that. It is just that damn hundred days project, that stupid fucked-up idea to get my damn life a little more organized and reduce the book population. That is the thing, the really big thing that rattled the cages around here. I am so conflicted about whether or not I should have done that project. Day to day, moment to moment, I can see both sides of that. I am sorry, truly contrite about the cage rattling. That benefited absolutely no one. It is just that I learned so much from doing those days and days and that part of it I would never regret, not for a damn second. Not even a nano-second, although I do not really understand exactly what that is, only that it is really small, brief.
I want to un-stagnate myself. I like that part. I want to be a person who grows and learns and has tons of forward movement in her life. I lust for new experiences. Even the opportunity to find out how I make it on my own thrills me. I just am not certain how much I am willing to suffer to do that, how much I am willing to sacrifice to do what seems like the right thing for the right reasons. During those weeks when it was scary I was sure that I knew that I wanted out. We are back in the not so scary part again and I...what? What do I know? What do I want? I am not sure. Especially after the past two days of looking for the means to a new life.
I feel sick. So cowardly. I actually am sick, just a little. I have a small fever and my sinuses and throat and chest feel icky, pre-cold/flue/whatever. I am in no mood to do what I need to do to find a new life or clean or do laundry or cut parts out of that poor mannequin. I have a cozy bed into which I can crawl in a few minutes. I have some syrupy over-the-counter stuff that will help me sleep and breathe easier. I have a car to take me to the pharmacy tomorrow if I need something stronger.
What I lack is the heart to just leave and let the rest take care of itself. If that makes me a coward or someone who is unwilling to make sacrifices, then, so be it.
No comments:
Post a Comment