Home Alone

Hi,

Well, I have been home one week now. Back to the conventional life. Back to the must do this and should do that, trim the bushes, collect the rent, heft that barge and toke that bale! Ugg!

Out on the road, I lived pretty much for the moment. I lived each day for whatever that day had in store for me. And it was all good. There were no chores to do. All that was important was where I would sleep and what I would eat. It was easy for me. Some people think I was brave to go on the trip alone, but for me, it requires more courage to stay home and face the regular daily challenges alone.

Being home means I have to deal with seeing my ex from time to time. He doesn't say hello or talk to me. He hasn't been pleasant since, well, even before the divorce, not for a really really long time. I live next door and it's a sad situation. So there's that.

I have been home just the one week and already a tenant told me the washer AND the dryer don't work. My AC unit is malfunctioning, the refrigerator is making funny noises, and the lawn is mostly weeds and sorry looking.

I have enjoyed seeing my friends, though. They are the best part of here.

The thing is: I cried last night. One of those waves of sadness that caught me off guard. I can't really explain why or where it came from. But with it came all the fear, regret, guilt, hurt, jealousy, and confusion of the past year. The pain of divorce, I read on some website, can take a couple of years (or more) to subside. Then it occurred to me that yesterday, was the first anniversary of my divorce. It's has been a year, and either I would say "already" or "only". It just depends.

I really never felt this bad while on my road trip. As I said, it was easier for me out there.

I know that this bad stuff passes, but oh how it hurts while it's moving on by. I did all the things I know to do to make myself feel better. I talked to myself and told myself that I was fine, life is good. I reminded myself to be thankful and appreciate all I have. Of course it took over an hour for my words to sink in. Longer for my heart to buy in. I finally got past the bad feelings and fell asleep after midnight.

At five this morning, I awoke. The morning is always better.

If I describe my life to someone or even to myself, they always say how lucky I am to be living such a life. I describe how I live on a barrier island, in a loft above my studio and gallery, with rental property for a constant source of income, a lot of friends, trips planned, with time to write, paint, and garden. I guess I am lucky. (Are you listening, dear heart of mine?)

I am not sure anyone reads this blog anymore, now that the road has brought me back home, and that's OK. I can be free to be me. Taking to myself, or writing for myself, is therapeutic for me. It seems the sad anxious feelings that build up inside, eventually flow out with my words and get dispersed, leaving behind the better feelings. That kind of makes me think the bad stuff is floating out there waiting for another human body to seep into. The thoughts don't go away, they just wander about from person to person. We share the same feelings, good and bad. Taking turns.

I guess I find comfort in thinking that way. There is more to everyone than the smile on their face or the hurt in their eyes. We are a complicated bunch. We are a receptacle for temporary feelings that stay awhile and then move on.

Now I'll have another cup of coffee. Thank-you for listening.