Posts Tagged ‘gifts’

The Fat Lady Sings

August 23, 2010

Yet another weekend when I could have been productively writing has been wasted, pushing the work on my novel even farther onto the back burner.

My list of things I must do right away has grown exponentially. I must find somewhere to live because I am not supposed to have contact with Insignificant Other. I must find a roommate because I cannot afford to live on my own. I must change my will and my life insurance beneficiary, and decide who will get the money. I have to say that at this point, I am leaning towards places that are pet and animal related. I need to think about what would become of my pets, should I die suddenly. It’s almost certain they would be split apart when they are all each other has ever known. That breaks my heart. I also need to figure out who among my friends would be most likely to see to it that my last wishes are carried out. I have to consider these things because heart attacks are stress-related, and my stress has been steadily increasing the past few years. It’s all coming to a head now.

I would prefer to think about finally living! About having the freedom to live in such a way that I recover myself. I used to be centered and at peace. I want to be that way again. I want to spend sunrises in meditation and prayer.  I want to get some old school kind of bike and ride it as much for fun as for exercise. I want to bike my butt off. Literally.  And next time, I will design my garden on paper before I plant.

I used to support myself! It’s been so long since I’ve felt the exhilaration of that. I hope for a normal day job again so I can take creative writing, yoga, and zumba classes at night.  I want to join a book club and host the meeting once in a while, in a house where I clean and it stays clean, because there are no dirty dishes in the sink, or piles of  crap on the dining room table. Where the Christmas tree is not still embarrassingly up in August. I want to have friends over for dinner on a screened porch strung with twinkle lights and play something different on the stereo…maybe old blues or young Sinatra. I want to read in bed without disturbing someone else with the light. I want pristine sheets and peace and pleasant dreams.

When I start over, I will wear dresses all the time, and pearls when I want. I will meet interesting new people. I will be the one to pick up the literary agent at the airport, and cook a real southern dinner for the author who travels the world. I will take a real vacation. I will please myself. I will overcome not being pretty by being interesting.

Next time, I will figure out a way to organize the bundle of wires leading from my computer. I will ride a horse, and maybe a Harley. I will paint the walls in neutral colors for a change. I will have at least one room with French doors. I will become the person I want to be by living the life she would live.

Now I am worried about how I will move with no truck and no help. Will Insignificant Other let me take the new bed, or will he claim he paid for it, so it belongs to him? What will I do with the antique mirror he said he would fix for me, but never did? It will most likely be left behind. What will I do with all these books? Maybe I will give some away, most likely those which were my mother’s, because our reading tastes were not the same. Those and some dishtowels are about all I inherited from her, but I cannot afford the luxury of sentimentality. I know this from past experience, and wonder why I am always the one to walk away with nothing.

I am at the precipice and I am afraid to leap.