"Fire and Rain"

I slept too long this morning; it always makes me feel like a lazy good-for-nothing.  But I just could not keep my eyes open, not even after coffee.  So, this began my third or forth day of being alone is this apartment without speaking to another human being.  Talked to my daughter once on the phone, but couldn't think of anything to say.  I do go to the grocery store, the post office, WalMart.  I applied to probably six jobs this week, called back on two and one was taken, the other "call later in the week".

So, what I call the "Black Hole", is big today, and really fucking dark.  I took a shower, ate some Raisin Bran with a banana, checked FB and emails.  Still felt lower than hammered shit.  Time to get busy.  Since I've moved into this apartment, I haven't really gone through the boxes in the closets.  No. I take that back.  Everything in the boxes are things I thought, at the time, were valuable, stuff I'd want to hang on to in case I ever move to a bigger place.  More room for pictures, drawings, candles, etc.  Still, I knew from previous experience, that I'd look through them and think, "why did I keep this?"  So started on the first closet of boxes.  One was filled with artsie-fartsie stuff I one day intended to finish.  Keep?  Toss?  Who was I kidding--toss.  Another was a box of old but protected People magazines of my favorite stars who've passed on.  Wow,  :(  I couldn't believe how many good people the world has lost, how many memories they held for me.

 Black Hole getting bigger.

 "All in the past," I told myself out loud. "Look forward!"  On to the next box.  Albums.  Records, I should say.  Bing Crosby Christmas, The Beatles IV, Phil Spector's Christmas Album.  And a boxed set of The Beatles Complete, London pressings.  My ex-husband gave me this one Christmas and it's been one of my prized possessions ever since.  Suddenly, I recalled the exact moment I opened it, with him sitting close and excited for me to see it.  I'd cried and cried, I was so happy he'd remembered and thought enough of me to buy such a treasure. 

One foot in the Black Hole . . .

Then came pictures of my mama, who passed in 1999, with me and my two sisters at her bedside.  One of those sisters passed in January, and the other, Sandy--well, we're not speaking.  Under my mother's pictures was one of those tin-plated wall hangings.  My oldest sister, Carol, collected those Victorian pictures of little girls with long, dark curly hair.  The most iconic is the one with the girl pouting in the corner with her little dog at her feet.  My sister had been sexually molested by my father--her stepfather, and in her heart and mind, she was another little girl named Callie-Lou.  This was the girl in these pictures.  The tin-plated wall plaque I found was of four little girls playing in a circle.  One was Carol, another was supposed to be me, with long blonde curls, the next with shorter hair was Sandy, and among them, with long dark curls was Callie-Lou.  Four sisters, innocent and carefree, playing 'Ring Around the Rosie' or some other child's game.

Cannonball into the Black Hole.

 It's all still sitting on my bed.  I can't--not today.  Maybe not tomorrow.  But I will organize it all and give it to my two girls, sell it in yard sales or give it to Goodwill.  I can't move forward with the sadness of the past staring me in the face all the time.  A part of me feels like I'm turning my back on people I love, but what choice to I have?

I was watching "Sling Blade" the other day.  Near the end, Carl (the mental guy) goes to ask a friend to look after the boy he'd made friends with.  "That boy lives inside his heart.  And that's a mighty big place to live", he said.  That's me.  I feel my life to the bone--past, present and future.  It's been a blessing in many ways.  It's made me a good mother, a good writer, a rabid lover of good music.  But it's a curse, too.  Life is too harsh to feel every single thing like a knife to the heart.  

They say divorce is like a death; I'm dealing with both.  I've passed denial.  I feel myself moving into anger.  Next is bargaining and then acceptance.  Those should be an interesting fucking circus.  Lots of clowns, that's for sure.  And me on the tight wire.

I miss my sisters--especially Sandy.  I miss my girls.  I miss my family, I miss my youth, and yes, if I had it to do over again, I would do many thing differently.

And I'm not built for living alone.  I have a lot to offer someone, even a roommate.  I still love the things I love passionately.  Even my sadness is vibrant.  The radio is now playing "Sounds of Silence".  And I can't turn it off; it's too pretty . . .

"Oh, Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood."

I've heard the saying, "It's hard to stay confident in a vacuum."  It rings true to me, in my case.  I come from a negative environment; the times didn't preach teaching your children with support and positive feedback.  Our parents lived their troubled lives, and us kids went along for the ride.  I learned that love doesn't last, when it comes to sex, neither men or women can be trusted to be faithful.  Love is pain, with very few shining moments thrown in; these seem, thankfully, to stick in our memories--making us feel that maybe things weren't so bad.  The good floats to the top, the bad lays low in our subconscious. It reveals itself at our weakest, when we're hurt, or angry, jealous or frustrated.  We act out like the children we were when those emotions were born.

People who spend too much time alone tend to ruminate on the negative.  I admit this is me.  However, I wasn't always this way.  I've heard loved ones say, " I just want the old Sheila back."  Sheila wants her back too.  I miss laughing with my friends, my family.  But so much time alone makes one awkward in social situations.  1. You're so giddy to get out and have some fun, you laugh too much.  You seem a bit hysterical; you try too hard.  2.  If you don't laugh enough, then you feel watched and awkward. Others ask if you're okay, which is nice for them to care, but it makes one feel as if the whole gathering is thinking the same thing: boy, Sheila's a real mess.

Okay, so--this is me.  A lucid me, someone who's had time to step back and see what messes she's caused and what messes fell in her lap.  I am not lazy; I want to work.  Having a job is salvation.  Get me out of this freeking apartment and daytime TV.  Not only do I feel worthless watching daytime TV, but every other commercial is about how "you can start your life today by going to - - - - college!"  Makes me feel like even more of a loser that I didn't do something with my life long ago.

 I sleep too much just to make the day go by faster.  I don't work out enough.  But I have a good novel to finish.  I sometimes think I've got myself deluded, that I'm not a writer.  But then i work on it, read older chapters and find that it's pretty fucking good.  Maybe nothing will come of it when it's done.  But stranger things have happened.  Still, if not, I've written a dang novel.  I will find other work and do my best.  

Yes, I do get alimony.  It's adequate, but never is enough for the whole month.  I'm sick of Top Ramen, Cherrios, and not enough healthy stuff on my dinner plate: they're too expensive and don't last. 

I'm grateful for the roof over my head.  My health (which is actually good), and my kids, friends and family who always are there for me.  I'm grateful for FB, the way I can keep track of family instead of the phone.  I've met wonderful people, too. 

God will give what he thinks I need.  I still pray for other things, but it's up to Him.  I'm silly happy for my best friend and her grandbabies, but I'm envious, too.  It seems to have pulled their whole family together.  A family I used to be a big part of, and now feel a bit squeezed out.  Only natural, I guess.  Still, the feelings remain.  That there's a big confession!

And mostly, what other's may see as self-pity, is actually humiliation.  I hate other's paying my way for anything.  It's not that I'm so proud, it's just that I'm 56.  Growing old and being poor terrifies me.  I stress over my future big time, although, at the same time, I chant "think about today, think about today."  And when the past gets me down, "Past, past, past. Leave it there."  All of this exhausts me.

So, that's my rambings for today.