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blogged-down_5.0: You're Gettin' Even While I'm Gettin' Odd

Sep. 15th, 2008

05:26 am

Gahhhh.  Nearly a month later and I'm still waking up at 4am every day.  Some days I can pummel myself back into unconsciousness.  Not today.

The day's prayer goes something like this:

Dear Gods and Goddesses (here I somehow always picture the Justice League, specifically the SuperFriends),

With regard to the house offer, please help bring about whatever outcome you think will be best for me.  In any case, please block other buyers from submitting any offers better than mine before 5pm today, which is the deadline on my extension.

Also, if one or both of the sellers are assholes, please allow my offer either to calm their afflictions or serve as a vehicle for payback, whichever is more fitting.

If you can also make my chest stop hurting from allergies or whatever the hell I've got, that would be awesome.

Smooches,
-SR

Sep. 14th, 2008

09:28 pm - Uplifting Thought of the Day

There are simple things you can do to alleviate some of your own suffering.  One of those is to brush your teeth.

08:10 pm

By day, I've been feeling like I'm coming out of a sickness.  Then, as each night falls, I feel I'm still in the throes of sickness. 

If that latest house works out, I can overwinter in my cave and do my best to be gentle with myself, striving to create conditions from which new life might emerge in the spring.

If it doesn't, anything still goes, up to and including taking the hell off for parts and adventures unknown, which is what I want to do when my grief is strongest.  I'll come across a picture or something she wrote and feel it all over again, as I did tonight.  But the difference between me and the ones I fall hardest for is that they never pause to look back.  The fork in the road that would send me wandering the earth with just the pack on my back represents not just self-imposed exile, but also a pathway to things I have not yet dreamed of.  The conflict here is between (1) using my accumulated power to continue manifesting that which I have already set in motion for myself in service of my happiness -- that is, I can own that path as mine alone, with or without companions to share the journey, and determine to let it nourish me as I nourish it, trusting that Nature and I are in touch and that's all I need to know -- or (2) just burning it all down to the foundation, leaving it there to smolder, and walking away to try some other thing entirely, or simply throwing myself into the current and letting it take me where it will, which I guess you could say is another version of trusting that Nature and I are in touch and that's all I need to know.  There are so many roads branching off at every step that they practically leave me immobile as I pause to second-guess each direction not taken, or as I start down one, turn back, start down another, and so on and so forth.  Much energy expended with little progress to show.

Looking at it another way, the song in the air this year is about the transitory nature of life and all that's in it.  There is no escaping that song.  It's being piped to me through little speakers embedded in every life form on the whole damned planet.  All that's left to decide is whether it's more of a paean or more of an elegy, or some of both.  Even then, the answer by itself doesn't determine the path I will follow.  Only I can determine that path.  What it does go a long way toward determining is whether I will be open on that path, or whether I will be closed -- and the answer to that question does make a difference in deciding which course of action is most attractive, although I still couldn't tell you exactly what the difference is.

I prodded the agent.  The deadline for the sellers to respond has come and gone.  Intuitively I felt them arguing over the offer (they are divorcing).  I just confirmed that is in fact the case.  I feel I should meditate, but having just set off an emotional mini-tornado in my head, my powers of elemental persuasion are weaker than they should be for this particular meditation.  In plain English, I'm not sure I can send sufficient force out into the universe to secure that place as my home when my resolve to have a home here is compromised, when I feel as shredded and conflicted as I do at the moment.  I need to let it alone.  My stomach is bothering me, but I'm going to have a beer, which signals the end of my productive day and the prelude to my falling over fully clothed on the bed with the doors open and the lights on.

05:45 pm - The embodiment of Pentacle Energy

I thought of this today. This feels like me right now:


01:31 am

Vacation week is about to draw to a close.  Luckily I'm not back in school quite yet, since I have a ton more patching and touching up to do around here.

Cross fingers and toes, I might have found a new and more perfect place to go live.  It's not a downsize really, and it won't let me quit my job, but it's awesome.  I should know more within the coming day or two. 

This is the first night in recent memory when I've actually gotten undressed and made a plan to go to bed, as opposed to simply falling over fully clothed on the bed wherever I can fit with whatever sheets I can steal out from under the dogs, with the back door still open and half the lights still on.  Still, "going to bed" means crawling into the bed set up frameless in the living room next to nearly everything else I haven't sold, given away or put in storage, which is a hell of a way to be a newly minted 40-year-old, but I guess it means my life is still a little bit interesting.

I decided a good goal would be to not bring self-pity with me to my new place.  Solitude, yes, and frequent disappointment on days like today where the only human contact I have is with an assortment of service professionals, but no pity.  That's especially true if I score this new house and come out of it more or less as solvent as I started after the old one sells.  Then all these ex-loves who shat on me and dumped me in the trash can have their lives, and they can even keep what shreds remain of my sexual dignity.  I'll have my sanctuary and the means to keep it.

Sep. 10th, 2008

11:51 pm

Oh, yeah, so.  The deal on House Manifestation #1 has, for all intents and purposes, gone south.  Inspection and subsequent second opinions and estimates turned up some true ugliness, including but by no means limited to a problem with the big, majestic trees on the lot -- which my favorite tree care guy says not only need to be trimmed back, but actually need to come entirely down, since the ivy has just about choked the life out of them and they're dangerous now.  Add to that a whole host of major issues not only with the lot and its vegetation, but with the house itself, and I have become significantly less enthusiastic about the situation.  I wrote to the agent tonight to tell him I want to disapprove the deal based on the results.  It sucks because it probably means the ultimate owner will be another developer paying cash who will simply raze the lot and put in some kind of huge grass patch and ticky-tacky house -- but I can't take this on.  It doesn't match my objectives anymore, and I'm not as rich as I wish I were.

So the house hunt is back on, and I might be able to take a little more time readying this place for sale, which is fine with me.

11:37 pm - I didn't even have to use my AK...


Got kidnapped for birthday and taken to beautiful place anyway, which was beautiful.  If you've gotta grieve, there are worse places and ways to do it than in a peaceful meadow up on a mountain after being plied with top-notch microbrew and free pie.

Then Maj (the kidnapper) and I went to G&K's house, where G&K had made vegetarian Indian food and cheesecake for us.  They also gave me a basket with coffee and tea and hot cocoa and a mug and stuff, and their foster kid gave me a box of Pop-Pop snappers.  After the kid went to bed, they gave me this leather bracelet:



Me:  "That's exceptionally cruel."
K:  "What?  We're helping you manifest sex."
Me:  "I'm gonna manifest an apostrophe."
G:  "Virgo."



Sep. 8th, 2008

08:26 pm

Changed mind.  No beautiful place for birthday.  Have solitary date with basement, alcohol, and personal demons.  It's my party and I'll cry if I want to.

House finally starting to look and feel empty.  Traded bed to some couple for smaller bed.  Sold and gave away more bulky stuff.  Storage locker getting full... not even sure how many of those things I will want back later.

Signed paperwork to have house listed.  Still waiting for data to try to negotiate on other place, but losing steam.  Acutely aware of unused Qantas credit, tempted to quit job and put school on hold after house sells and go for an indeterminate length of time.

Sep. 5th, 2008

04:30 pm

Dear Universe,

You continue to open to me at a nearly alarming rate, and for that I should probably be thankful, except that simultaneously my own grip on matters is rapidly slipping.  All I can see in front of me right now is the phenomenal depth and breadth of what I have lost.

It's true that I have been focusing on a particular place to go to.  Today I have seen, though, that it would be just as easy -- perhaps easier -- to just go.  Many of the preparations look exactly the same. 

 

07:11 am


The epic trip will be rescheduled for next year.  This year's epic will take place closer to home, wherever home may be.

Probably 70% of the stuff here has either been sold, given away, or put in storage, with more to go.

The old house is being painted today, which is driving the dogs absolutely batty.

I have this coming week off, and except on my birthday, I will be painting and patching the old house.  On my birthday, I will be wherever I'm taken.  I asked a friend to take me somewhere out of town: doesn't much matter where, as long as it's beautiful and isn't the beach.

The other house is at that "how much will it cost to fix this jacked-up thing they did and will the seller shave anything off to compensate for the expense" stage. 

Once again, the birds are trying to tell me something.  Or, rather, this time random people are appearing to tell me something about the birds.  The crows haven't spoken with me directly lately, at least that I've noticed.

Exhibit A:  Woman from Craigslist comes to buy compost tumbler.  While checking it out, she looks around and says, in response to nothing in particular, "At least the crows are at bay."  (Which, as previously noted, they are.)

Exhibit B:  Over at potential new place, gate is open and two neighborhood kids -- a Hispanic girl in a pink dress, probably around 10 years old with dark pigtails and two missing front teeth, and her little 7- or 8-year-old brother, who sports a crew cut and whose English isn't quite as advanced as the girl's -- park their bikes and let themselves in to hunt crickets (what they had looked more like grasshoppers, but whatever).  They beckon me over to check them out.  During the conversation that ensues, they tell me a little about the old guy who lived and died on the property.  They don't know what his name was, but they remember he had an eagle.  An eagle.  Remember this is in the inner city.  They say the eagle died, and show me the area on the land where it's buried.  They say they think the house is haunted by the old man.  (I respond I hope I treat the place well enough that he won't haunt me; of course he's welcome to stay.)

Exhibit C:  At storage units, a hippie-looking couple probably around my age, looking like they're living out of their camper van along with a small dog, are going through the stuff in their unit. The man is down on one knee presiding over the pile, handling a TV, trying to determine its condition.  I can't find a free cart; the woman unloads hers and gives it to me.  She tells me they had an apartment but got "bombed out... it's hard to rent anymore."  I ask them about living in the van.  She looks sad.  Evidently this apartment they had was a while ago:  "Yeah, but nine months is a long time.  I know, I know, I should be grateful.  Well, Great Sparrow will provide."  (I agree, then go back home and Google "Great Sparrow" -- which, unless they were talking about the South African breed, isn't from any established tradition I can find.)

If at the end of all this I find myself situated in the new place, there is, I think, going to have to be a small altar.  On it, for one thing, will need to be the Nine of Pentacles (probably Rider deck or some variation thereon, although we'll see).  And now also the trio of crow, eagle, sparrow.  I've been reading and asking certain people what they think it all means.




 

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