Day 2
I’m stuck in a stage of grief. I gaze out the window overlooking a snowy prairie and a charmingly named furniture store called The Dump, and a mental tape in my head plays: I’m only here temporarily. My motivation wanes. I consider trial leasing a car to acquire a bit more independence here in the ‘burbs, despite not having driven for 20 years. I’m only here temporarily. The determination leeches away. My friends and family reassure me that my apartment is lovely and decorated beautifully, it’s really not much smaller than the condo. I’m only here temporarily. Satisfaction dwindles. I sit at the computer poised to say – something. I’m only here temporarily. The procrastination kicks in.
I am only here temporarily, until the summer of 2016 when my credit has healed enough to let me purchase something. But that’s over 18 months away – a year and a half of living to do. But as the days go by and I go through the motions, something inside keeps me from smoothly accepting the permanence of this particular transition. What I knew is completely gone against my will: the job, the career, the mental wherewithal, the condo, the lifestyle. It’s so damn final. I recognize nothing but my friends. They ask how am I doing in the ‘burbs and I always answer: adjusting. How long does it take to adjust? My pragmatic self is silent – strangely so. I check in on my sartorial psyche Jodi, Jada, and Julie but they are silent too. Well, not Jodi; I suspect she’s the one resisting change, resisting acceptance. I’m not sure what to do for her.
This feeds a kind of mental paralysis. I procrastinate and magnify issues until I’m an inert, anxious, fearful blob. There are things I need to do: physical therapy, going for the final post-cataract exam, getting new glasses, test driving, exploring my new world, writing. Those same baby steps, all over again. I think about toddlers and their determination to walk just like everybody else. After three and half years of barely holding my life together with spit and wire, I want a “normal” existence too. If psychological acceptance isn’t happening right now, then determination and discipline is the only way through.
So I plant my butt in a chair and type while that tape plays: I’m only here temporarily, and remind myself that I don’t need an ideal setting to pour out my thoughts. While my psyche still mourns for what was lost, part of me must look forward and do something. If you can’t write about the fandom or HIM, Dr. G. says with a twinkle in her eye, then write what you feel now.
So here I am. Writing.
I think that’s excellent advice. I used to try to write about how writers block made me feel …
This is an unsolicited remark / personal reflection, so if it’s useless to you, discard. As you know I’ve moved a lot. I find that after every move there are routines I need to find again. Where is the coffee shop. Where is the bar. Not “THE” coffee shop or “THE” bar, but rather the one that’s going to be my “third place,” the space I am comfortable in when I am not at home or work. Similarly, I have to reinhabit each new living space via a sort of metaphorical marking of territory (for me, this usually involves creating a mess of some kind). It takes a while. And the steps I take at the beginning are really small ones.
Meanwhile, I’m waiting every day for your words!
Thank you for sharing your feelings. You know, I too “procrastinate and magnify issues until I’m an inert, anxious, fearful blob.” The last time I moved was last October and I still have not unpacked everything and in fact rarely put my clothes away so my bedroom looks like some abandoned warehouse with boxes, books and clothes piled in every corner. I know I have to make time to de-clutter and rid myself of stuff I no longer use but right now I feel that my emotional and psychological health is more important than having a perfectly clean and organized room. In the meantime, I do the best I can with what I’ve got (as cliche as that may sound).
You write beautifully, Judiang! So keep working through it
Hi Judiang, Thanks for sharing your journey of reinvention with us. Sometimes, I think having too many options can be daunting. I have to “triage” and prioritize them in my life–and celebrate the victory of getting one item on my mental list accomplished.
Even “little” things like recycling become a production. For though we now have curbside recycling–single stream–the city has very particular ways it wants that stuff, or it won’t pick it up the next time. Flattening boxes before recycling is the biggest to do with all the product packaging. Let alone deciding if the item can be recycled–such as the pseudo plastic bag that the dog food comes it. Or the plastic versus paper egg containers. It can be a tussle because I’m firmly in the camp of recycling as much as we can–but my hubby is satisfied with things going into the trash bin. And also before the past year’s billing paperwork can be recycled, it has to also be shredded for confidentiality–which in doing so will increase its volume in the recycling bin. It’s the mundane everyday things that get to us and drag us down. Ha!
But your returning to blogging is definitely an accomplishment–of your maintaining some of your old networks and interactions. These days, I’m trying to troll around to my favorite blogs–such as yours and others–at least once a week. It’s not as much as I would like, but it’s what I can manage. And I’m cool with that. So hopefully, you’ll also settle in and be cool with what you can manage in life. Because now you can do as you please–when you decide what pleases you.
Hugs, Love, & Cheers! Grati;->