I want to sell my house. It is too big for just me, it has always been too much work for one person, and I have always done the vast majority of work on this house. Always. From paying for it, to shoveling, raking, cleaning, painting, doing outside work, doing inside work, I have carried the burden of it on my own shoulders. But now, I am in a place where I want to move on. I need very much to leave behind the ghost that haunts this place. I am currently living in all of about four rooms, other than the bathroom, the kitchen, the family room, my bedroom and lets call the fourth room utility, (laundry, art), and I have never loved living in the city, my heart is 100% pure country. I would rather sit on a porch and watch foxes and birds in the morning, than put on a pair of heels and a short skirt and go to any gallery in the evening. I would rather hike and fish and go for a long walk, than to schmooze at any kind of party.
I want to sell my house, but I have no place to live. I want to pay off my debts, my car, my credit cards once and for all, I will never pay off my student loan. I don’t want to be beholden to any creditor, but I cannot afford to pay cash for a new place. I want to move in with the pirate. My space there will be tight, his clutter will overwhelm me, and he is already expressing doubts as to my lack of perfection ( I am once again, too fat, my ankles are too thick, my hair isn’t long enough, I am too messy, I am too possessive ) . I am once again, not quite good enough. How does this always happen? I must exude it, but here is the thing, right now I am not for all the bullshit. I am happy to be homeless for a few months, to get my debts paid and then to move on. I am going to call a friend who owns a big house and who has her own financial troubles, I am going to talk to the people at the Zen Center about living there, I will live in a box, or a tent, I just don’t care to carry this burden of home ownership, I cannot afford the rents in the city, they don’t take pets anyway. I look at what remains of my furniture, what do I really want? The furniture on the veranda, my bed, my dresser, my bookcase, my end tables, my easel, a good chair to read in, my spinning wheel, my sewing desk, the stone bookcase and round table, all this damn art that I have made, that is all I want in the world.
I want to sell my house. I want to be free.
Today, I am melancholy though. My house looks so beautiful, so sparse and so bare. And yet the garden is messy, and the inside of me is messy. The pirate is scared and his fear sets me on edge. I am not scared, and the fact that he is makes me so. I just want to be free of this house, and the debt it has put on my finances, and the toll it has taken on my soul. But it is so peaceful here, and beautiful, and I don’t have to do anything other than just be free to be myself.
And I also have no idea what to do, nor what is coming next.
Why am I not really afraid? But my God, I am so sad.