Blink, blink, blink. Damned annoying, this blinking line on my empty page. It just sits there, accusing me of not writing. Don’t you have anything to say? C’mon. I know you want to.
Friday was a day of utter sloth. Didn’t even get out of my pj’s. I cried and paced and fretted a storm up. Somehow that seemed to make yesterday even more difficult. I felt fragile when I left the house, as if the slightest upset was going to break me. My natural inclination was to avoid all contact with humans. I felt perversely pleased when I hopped off the metro and realized I’d spaced the fact that it was Saturday, and that meant open air markets downtown. A perfect opportunity to prove that natural inclination wasn’t the best thing for me.
Maybe it was the fact that I wore my yellow hoodie out on a semi-rainy day when everyone else was wearing dark colored rain gear, or maybe it was just the dregs of my anxiety reaching up to tinker with my paranoia knob, but it sure seemed to me that I received more than my share of looks as I wandered up and down the market aisles. I don’t know why on the days I most want to hide I seem to stand out, but I do. My iPod was blasting out an album from Sunscreem, my sunglass were on (half to deflect the blinding occasional sun and half to just hide), and my steps were even and measured as I walked and shook my head at each seller trying to tempt me into buying something. I spent no money and talked to no one. But passing through that swift running river of humanity like a salmon jumping upstream to spawn somehow calmed me, as if each person that bumped me knocked off a corner of that shell built up around my heart. By the time I reached the metro I was almost sorry to be heading home.
I felt good enough when I got back to tackle more language. Part of that was translating a letter I received from the hospital that changes my upcoming appointment with my rheumatologist. The missive is brief, and to the point. It tells me nothing I want to really know, other than the date and time of my next visit. And the fact that I’ll be seeing a different doctor. Almost missed that bit of info; it was scribbled in by hand. I spent a good hour online, searching out my rheumatologist’s contact email to ask what’s going on. I want to stay under her care, not go through yet ANOTHER doctor (this would be my third rheumatologist in 2 years). Give me some consistency, please!
And flux is the word…is the word…is the word. Nothing feels stable right now. My doctors are being changed, my language class is gonna change, my brother’s sensei who once seemed so promising seems to have dropped off the face of the earth. It’s like the universe said, ‘Oh, look! They’re feeling a bit more stable. Let’s change things up’. Can I reiterate AGAIN that I really don’t have any friends here, so the people that are leaving and being replaced right now in my life are the ONLY people I have a relationship with outside this house? They are the ONLY Dutch people I know who are helping me navigate this new life. At one time or another, they’ve all been called upon to translate something, answer some questions, or help with this or that.
This is NOT helping my trust issues.
Also feels like I have a sore point that’s growing to a head, like some nasty boil on your butt. It’s over old tasks that should be simple, yet still aren’t done. Things like taking in some old electronics for recycling (2 years). Or changing the toilet seat (6 months). Due to the nature of these tasks, they’d usually fall to my brother. But he’s in that rut again. I’ve seen it before and waited years for something that ends up taking an hour to finish. The problem is, the only way I know of making it happen at this point is to stand over him and nag or do it myself. Since I’m not limping or in agony, I’m choosing to tackle them myself. I just wish he wouldn’t force my hand like this. Just FINISH the damned thing, will you? Yet he, who has something like 2 dozen releases for sale because he’s a music making machine, seems to have problems following thru with these tasks. It drives me crazy.
A purge is coming soon to my life. A purge of my closet. While putting away my laundry I rooted around in there for a bit and found a T-shirt that (1) I had not seen for over a year and (2) had now grown so shabby that I’ve just got to chuck it into my rag rug pile. Like cockroaches, if I find one, there’s more. So I’m gonna be ruthless. There’s a dress I bought (cheap) that I’ve never worn. It was one of those I’ll lose some weight and then it will look great purchases. That’ll go in the donation bin. The rest – mostly raggedy shirts – will get thrown into my rag rug pile, which, by the way, is by volume the largest thing I’m carrying around. Just old clothes and scraps, all waiting for the day I think my hands are in good enough condition to make rag rugs again. I’m beginning to wonder if my rag rug pile isn’t akin to that dress I bought for some future skinny me that hasn’t materialized. If I’m not stockpiling this stuff for a day that isn’t coming.
Well, you never know. Just yesterday I wanted some sheet protectors and searched high and low through my unpacked boxes until I remembered that I got rid of all of them before the move. Had literally hundreds. Didn’t need them at the time and couldn’t envision a time I would need them. Now I need them and don’t have them. Typical. My life runs that way. It’s part of the reason I want that closet purge: I won’t lose the weight until I get rid of the clothes I bought in anticipation of losing the weight.
Now if I can only make this work in other areas of my life…