Whiplash

My head is tottering back and forth, this week, between the past and the future. It should be firmly in the present, which continues nonetheless, but it isn’t. It’s one of my many failings, the inability to live in the moment.

It’s spring break for Dusty and Red and I took a few days off to enjoy it with them though the sun decided to take it’s spring break elsewhere. Yesterday, I took the girls to Monticello, at Red’s fervent request, and we got my favorite tour guide. He’s someone an ex-friend and I loved when we went there a few years back and the guide was in fine form. He’s a story teller and clearly loves Mr. Jefferson. I wanted to share this information and couldn’t. Because that friendship is dead apparently and there’s no one else to tell who’d really get it. It’s like being on the losing end of a divorce, I guess. Which I don’t consider myself being on, in terms of my own, so I guess this is my comeuppance. The person I want to share this with, I can’t. So, I just keep the information inside and share it with myself. Which is not really ideal. It’s frustrating.

I’m trying to figure out, in my spare time, late at night, why people hate me. Why I’m not good enough to be friends with. And I’m a bit biased so the exercise goes round and round between thinking they’re all crazy to thinking they’re all correct. I’m trying to accept that I’m not everyone’s cup of tea. I’m not all that. I’m something else. And I miss having a best friend and really need one who doesn’t suck the life out of me and require too much and isn’t, in Julia Cameron’s world, a ‘crazy maker’. I tend to attract that type. I’m not sure how to break that cycle. I don’t see my therapist often enough these days to ask her. She thinks I’m doing swell. I’m not so sure. I’m throwing this all out there in an attempt at embracing my vulnerability, but it’s uncomfortable. Maybe that’s a sign I’m doing it right. Who knows? I’m sad. And sometimes lonely. And poor. Who isn’t, right? Or maybe I’m the only one. I don’t know. How are you supposed to know?

I’m scheming, though. I’ve decided what my future will look like, once the kids are out of the house in 8 years or so. It looks like this:

A huge tract of unspoiled land somewhere. With a tiny house, preferably newly built by one of the many well-known tiny house builders. Powered by solar panels and back-up batteries. A well. A composting toilet. The catch is decent internet service, no worse than what I currently have (ie, zero streaming anything). And by tiny, I mean 600-800sf with tall ceilings. I’m claustrophobic so those trailer houses are out. I could write in one but I couldn’t live in one.

And maybe that’s too big. I’m bad at math so I’m throwing a number out there. Maybe I could get by with 400 sf and a separate “shed” for writing. I just know it needs both a bathtub and a shower. And an oven, not a microwave. I hate those things. I like to bake. Skylights would be nice. A wood burning stove or fireplace is a must. I don’t need a/c.

Also, the land would include space and shelter for a couple goats, a few bee hives, a large vegetable garden. A pond, a stream, etc., would be lovely. A beautiful view would be icing on the cake. I don’t want to see or hear anyone. If I want people, I’ll find them. I want a life freed from bills and bills and bills. Something that is weighing me down at present. I want to get rid of most of this stuff. I’ve gotten rid of a lot but if I shrunk down from 1,900 sf to 600 sf, there’s still plenty to let go of.

I want a true root cellar. I want to make candles with beeswax and soap from goat’s milk. Or maybe I don’t, but I could if I wanted to. I want to write surrounded by trees and birds and a couple of cats for company. I want a house that never needs painting, even though I enjoy painting. I want floors, not carpet. I want more nature than I have, which is a lot more than I ever had growing up. I want a screened in porch.

I want to figure out how to be my own best friend in lieu of forcing someone else to take over that role. I want to be okay with this, to embrace loneliness and isolation and turn it into happiness and enough. Sometimes it is. Usually it is. Yesterday it wasn’t.

But that’s in the past. I’m looking forward.

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4 thoughts on “Whiplash

  1. At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I remember going through exactly this when I’d been divorced for about as long as you have been. I hope that’s a little comforting to you, that there’s an arc and a season and all that.

    You aren’t alone, and even though we’re still imaginary, you are my friend 100%.

  2. Even though we haven’t seen each other in long time, *I* still like you. Sorry about the end of your other friendship, I think I know who you’re talking about and I wondered what happened when I noticed you weren’t FB friends anymore. Sounds like you don’t know, either, and that is a shame. I’ve had that happen to me, too, and it does not feel good.

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