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I take a deep breath and breathe in the air of the clean bedroom that I have worked so hard to clear. And then I throw the royal blue silk bedspread and pillow shams onto the bed. It looks gorgeous against the orange hanging lamp above it. Underneath the covers is my red, linen, Indian mandala sheet (now faded to a sort of fuscia) that has traveled with me for many years now. This sheet has been present for many dreams and tears, partners, peaceful nights... one of the only things that has lasted with me through the years, as other humans have not been able to. Finally, when sliding into the bed naked, I feel at home, and I sleep deeply.
And I begin to sleep longer and longer into the days and be awake longer and longer into the night. I lapse into that schedule I had as a teenager during the summer months and begin to feel lazier and lazier. But it is not comforting, even though I am comfortable.
One would think that after 5 months of not working, that I would be accustomed to lounging around lazily and accomplishing very little. Though to me, there is a fine line between accomplishing tasks at a steady pace, and being lazy.
I feel lazy.
I don't like it.
The tasks I have put myself to are to excavate the bedroom; formerly mine, and then olders sister's, most recently my vehement and estranged grandmother's. It was left piled and clogged so densly to the brim with "god knows what", and as I have sifted through many things, I could only say that the contents of value amount to 2 bags, throughout about 12-15 boxes sorted as of yet. It's difficult to maintain momentum to so mundane a task. Simmering in the psychosis of another human being, and having to sort it into coherency.
Although if anyone, I am the one to do it. The only one left in the family who has the compassion to do it. This compassion remains simply because I have not been antagonized to the brim as they have; and I understand insanity so much more personally than they do.
Yet my momentum is waning. I try to muster it up, because I will be gone for the next week, have only a week in between, and then again another trip. But no matter what I do I have not been able to recharge that gumption to get it done.
I am battling my own inability to finish projects, my own weakness. I am sifting through the poisonous energy of another human being, put there purposely to deterr from clearing space. IT's a strange spell. And I am able to break it if I get out into the open wilderness one day a week. Go horseback riding, or hiking, or some sort of grueling physical exersize to purge that clogged engergy I suppose. But I haven't this week and I feel the difference emensly....
I have been successful for about a month and half to not abusing my body with my addictions (save caffeine). But have noticed this week the urge to reach for a beer, glass of wine, martini etc. has become stronger, and I no longer resist it. Which, dissapoints me. My strength seems to be getting zapped.
Here, I have fantassies of rising at 4 am and excersizing, meditating, riding my bicycle for morning breakfast and cooking yummy foods for everyone while playing the perfect wife. But that is not happening. I don't know how those stepford wives ever got it all done. Though I do take comfort in understanding that I am battling a house that has been neglected for years, and people in it who have abused their bodies unconsciously for the same amount of time, never knowing how to treat it nicely.
Yet, my mother listens to what I say with extreme interest for the first time in my life. And my father and I fall into a symbiotic rhythm that we've always had. For the first time ever no one questions my sanity, and the validity of what I say or do. I watch my niece shake with excitement over Cherrios.
I dodge individuals who give me the co-dependent red flag. Try to track down others who I have not seen in so long. Watch my savings dwindle.
The blessing string on my right wrist is worn and will likely decompose off soon. My blessing running low...
Then what? |