Chaos and beauty

June 3, 2013

Get used to it!   I cut the ugly rosebush to the ground so now I can get out of the driver’s side door of the Westfalia.  I filled the green bin, put out the trash, recycling, all the old court papers.  Not all–there are boxes more to go through.  So many boxes of books and papers I need to clear out.  It seems impossible.  Little by little I am making dents here and there.

Still in a state of despair and dread.  The uncertainty as to where I am going to live, or if I can keep my home of 20 years with or without struggle, crisis, subterfuge, is poisonous .  Would that I could just grieve and work and live and pay bills in a normal manner without this underlying deception and ugly, negative bullshit!  My landlord is truly a criminal.

As time moves on, the fear and anger dissipate a bit.  I can do little tasks,  but it is so hard, and then grief explodes.  I consolidated his two small bottles of aspirin-wracked by sobs and sorrow .   A little while later the pain wears off and I can go back to that medicine cabinet and find something I need, dental floss, neosporin, and throw the empty aspirin bottle in the recycling.  Everything is like this, a herculean task.   I washed and folded all his clothes and put them in boxes.  Sweats, old, worn t-shirts, shoes, socks.  It’s just too much to sort, to decide.  How can I deal with real things if I can’t throw out his paint-stained sweat-pants?  How can I use these as totems to heal, to answer my prayers, to solve the mysteries of life and death?  Time will reveal all if I just push through, watch, and wait.

So many different enormous tasks and struggles to face.  Doing normal things, working, paying bills, eating, sleeping, driving, playing music–these are not so difficult, I have practice.  They are grounding.  Dealing with all these new issues is terrifying–a vampire landlord, hospital bills I can’t and shouldn’t have to pay, unreadable forms I don’t know the first thing about approaching.  And then there are two worse-than-useless cell phones, the ancient computer on the verge of crashing.

People keep saying, let me know if you need anything.  How do I match them up with things I need doing?  That will be my mantra:  yes, I need help with  .  .  .  this thing!

Can I lose myself in my art?  maybe tomorrow.