I walked out my door this morning at 6:45, 15 minutes later than I should, but 5 minutes earlier than usual. Instead of a bone chilling cold the air felt not cold, just light with a hint of forsythia. I decided to take a second and survey the new day before I slugged to my car and off and away to warm a seat. I noticed our garden welcoming spring with bright yellow daffodils and the buds filling the Magnolia just about to burst. Soon the irises and tulips will burst through the ground then the multi-colored oddities that continue to bloom year over year even though they shouldn’t will complete the garden. The hydrangeas and lilies and delphiniums will sprout overnight making the aura of our home fragrant. For a second I thought about how much happiness I miss each day lately.
We are still awaiting the debate between the attorney and the mortgage company to come to a close. Not knowing if it will be in our favor makes it hard to breath one moment to the next. I think to myself, where will we go, what will we do, how about Anya’s playhouse and swing set her IPop built and the sandbox that just arrived for her birthday. The years of sweat and tears already invested in this home that we got married in and brought our baby home, to lose it all…because of timing: a hubby laid off months before the birth of our child, account-sucking post-partum medical bills and the vanished savings. We bought our first home with money from working 2 jobs, me at the bookstore and Rich playing gigs. We bought it in disrepair, crying out for salvation from 130 years of neglect and no updates since 1905. We believed in this home and what its ghosts could bring to our lives.
As soon as we de-siliconed the windows we felt her breath…it was a deep, life affirming sigh of gratitude: you could smell the air circulating through each room, chasing away the must and gloom of decades. We poured our dreams into what she deserved with her original transoms, knobs, and light fixtures. We loved her 1945 newspaper tales of WWII and bread for $.10 hidden beneath the rugs and the pleasantly distorting view of the outside through wavy glass. We reveled in her now defunct but topic of discussion outhouse and chicken coup. In four years she already needs fresh paint on her walls, real floors installed instead of carpet over 2x4s, and a kitchen that includes cabinets and counters and a sink newer than 1935. The roof scares us the most with its perhaps 70 year old tiles slowly giving way, and the cement walkways crumbling into dust with each new step…they trip and slip all who dare come and go.
We figured we had time and money to afford her care and reconstruction: we would bring her to glory and pride. But now, 2 years into financial and emotional ruin we sense a different sigh from the walls. We hear the neighbor on the other side of our twin as his curses boom the 40 years of abuse to his wife. Anya cringes and cries and runs for comfort from the joining wall, we turn up the TV or radio, and sometimes throw shoes in their direction, thudding their shut up against the walls. The lights burn out and aren’t replaced quickly enough, making the rooms darker and smaller. The padding on the cheap “we’ll replace them in 3 years” carpet has deteriorated making each step hard beneath tired feet. I feel like we’ve let her down, yet another promise of love and nurturing her beauty and history failed.
I realize I’ve become a cave dweller. I move from my bed, to my car, to my desk, back home to my living room and back to bed. Most days I can’t stir up enough energy to cook or take a walk or make calls or just enjoy life. I’m constantly harried and stressed and emotionally a wreck. In order to afford to live now we would be forced to move to an area where I wouldn’t want Anya to attend school or sit outside in the evenings. I feel like I’m running from one job to the next even though I love teaching dance and sharing Arbonne , and how can I find more minutes in 24 hours to play with my little girl who is growing up faster than the breaths I take. I still have too much pain for the efforts I’ve made to reduce the physical suffering from the complications of my pregnancy. Some days I still feel like throwing in the towel and running away.
My family and friends keep me going. Sometimes they even bring a smile to my face and a skip in my walk. The energy boosts they provide get me through the next hurdle. Lately, though, I have an unhealthy kind of fear; it’s that damned news and people fucking up life every day that brings it on. I hate selfishness and lack of community and mean, abusive asshats. I despise drivers who think they own the road and always have to get there 3 seconds faster than you. I groan at corporations that have nothing to do with life-saving or sustaining responsibilities treating their staff like the world will end if they don’t work 100 hours a week and forsake their family and health to meet stupid deadlines. I spit on condescending attitudes and general esteem-killing language: contrary to what you may believe, demeaning someone does not make them more productive or quality focused. I resent modern technology for putting me back in touch with people whom I care about, but not providing me the extra time to spend with them.
My daughter reminds me that love is life. Her giggles and tall tales in toddler babble complete with a range of arm motions and facial expressions that indicate a passion and emotion larger than life give me a reason to fight against all that ails. She gives me strength and motivation to strive harder, believe more and be something for her to be proud of. I fear that this horrible world of bullies and beasts and bombs and stupidity will bring harm to her. I am useless against it all and cannot protect her…I am afraid.
I know there are many me’s. I am strong, independent and willful, but I am also shy and demure and afraid. I can be funny and angry and alluring. I am a leader and a follower. And for all these me’s I survive and strive. I feel ugly when I am depressed and down and afraid. I resort to self-deprecating and emotional beatings at my mistakes. This also makes me moody and much more aware of my physical pain. I know I need to snap out, and I will, but I need to stop this from happening all together. I wonder if that’s possible. The life I live now versus that life I worked hard to live aren’t having tea together in the park.
We have yet another gloomy day, bringing clouds and rain and dampness to a colder than usual spring. The dots of color in freshly mulched beds don’t seem to be enough to balance the lack of sunshine that is apparent on everyone’s face. I like tricking myself into warm shiny analogies of weather and emotion. But also understanding cycles and time - everything is temporary. What happened to my eternal sunshine? I miss being happy more than not, and feeling capable and successful. I don’t want to be a statistic of any sort. Honestly, I don’t want to accept that I can’t fix everything. My father taught me that failure is not acceptable…this was not one of his better lessons for sure. It’s become my personal hell. Hrm…that’s interesting.
The earth and its people are still struggling to recover from the March 11th 9.0 earthquake, resulting tsunami and nuclear reactor failure in Japan. Every day there is more news of suffering, radiation leaks and doomsayers. There is also a fair amount of those being ignorant. I had to stop myself from reading and watching any more. The earth is not so large as it once was. Being a grown up makes me mortal. I remember being told, don’t rush life, enjoy being young. Of course that means nothing to the immortality of a kid. We want so much to be grown up, then we realize that it sucks, but you can’t go back…and if you try you just look stupid. I think of history classes and reading of wars and industry and the emergence of the modern world we live in today. We consider advancements genius = always. Maybe the Amish have it somewhat correct. But you can’t have one without the other.
We have longer life expectancy, but more disease. We have faster transportation, but more accidents. We have higher birth rates, but more poverty. We have better technology, but less human-ness. I have always expressed life as a balance between two opposites; it usually makes the most sense to me. But I also know there is plenty of in-betweens that I can’t justify, just accept as a fact. And again I am wont to apply this to my emotional purgatory. I am not bi-polar, but I sympathize with those who are. My mood swings since my pregnancy are wide and wild. Now…attaching this concept of failure from my father I begin to breach the mystery of my planet Nay.
When I defeat the villains of my world I am proud and strong and hopeful, but when I fail I am low, distraught and fearful. I wade and wallow accordingly. I have a successful dance instruction business that I am proud of and motivated to grow, then an earthquake hits when I feel less than qualified due to my inability to perform shaking my self-confidence, mostly a result of my physical limitations post pregnancy. Immediately following the depression sets in waves, one after another, creeping deeper into my psyche, eroding more of the strength and progress I’ve made. While picking up the pieces and moving onward, various containment failures pick at the delicate façade during repair, cumulating and reaching critical levels, then balancing then peaking, and cycling. I’m in a constant state of natural disaster and recovery. Ha…Natural Disaster Nay. peanut gallery have fun with that.
I have a lot to contemplate.
