Living with myself.

Livingroom

By the time I have figured out its resting place, I am dripping with sweat, the humidity is high and it is hard work.  But in the end I stand back and look and it feels good.  I find myself wishing the room was exactly one foot longer and one foot wider.  Nothing to be done though.  It will be cozy when the woodstove is burning.  For now, two days later, I sit with the eastern light streaming in through the filtered needles of a blue spruce, and a spring blooming shrub.  Shubbery.  I laugh in my head, Monty Python and a random pledging function swirling together to form a mote of my personality.  When Sancho, old with cloudy eyes, decidedly hearing impaired, cancerous and in pain, jumped up and looked out the window he turned and kissed me on the cheek.  For now, he sits by the wide open front door laying on the stone tiles, watching the neighbors cat.

I have settled in quickly, but in some moments when I am tired I feel a pang or two of loneliness, then I notice the thin shape of my ankles contrasted to the thickness of my calves, and get on the scale and notice it hasn’t budged, (for the last 20 fricking years) and I think, no, no this body does not yearn for companionship.  This body yearns for peace and serenity.  I sit on my meditation rock in the backyard, my mind thinking of the kind of lover I want, kind, intelligent, well read, doesn’t watch alot of tv, loves animals, nature, the outdoors, is content to sit and talk quietly, to cuddle and as a tiny drop of dew glistens in the morning light, I realize I am all of those things.  I am fine here, just as I am.  I will be my own lover.  Not in the sense of quietly having sex with myself, but of loving my self.

Living with myself.

My coffee is cold, the dogs are snoozing, and the crystal is making rainbows splash across the room, being content is a conscious decision.  It isn’t an easy choice.  We can dwell on all the things about ourselves which do not satisfy others.  We can think of all the things in others that makes us feel small about ourselves.  We can think of all the things about someone else that annoy us, and the things about ourselves which not only annoy others, but sometimes fester and gnaw at us when we are tired and feeling low.  We can bitch and moan, and want others to meet some nagging need within us, but no one will ever live up to that desire.  I used to tell my ex husband that when you break off one relationship, and start a new one, you are just trading one set of problems for another.  Either way, I have to be content with myself first.  And I have spent way too much time trying to make myself content dependent on someone else being content with me.  Or being content based on what other people call happiness, or being trying to be content while not getting my needs met.  It doesn’t work, and I don’t want to trade myself in for someone else or someone else’s problems.

The problem for me has always been me.  I told someone yesterday that I am a bullshit free zone right now.  I asked someone three days ago, why he was always so miserable, and told him to answer me civilly because I had had enough of him being a grouch all the time.  Later he apologized when he did it again, and I called him on it.  I won’t stand for it.  I deserve to be treated with respect, pure and simple.

But it all started with respect for myself.   And the strength to leave a relationship that was abusive, financially it was a great situation for me, but he was mean, and not loving, or tender, or thoughtful, and the 60 inch tv was a constant assault on my senses and my sensibility.  And as I look around my tidy, organized and clean home, I think no one will EVER call me lazy again.   No one will ever call me a slob again, no one will ever tell me I shouldn’t get a new dog because I am never home (I work 7.5 hours a day 185 days a year, really?  never home?)  and call me irresponsible at the age of 46 or 86 ever again.  Because I won’t stand for it.

This is my choice, to continue on this journey alone.  Because so far, trying to get someone else to love me JUST LIKE THIS, is too damn hard.

Loving myself.

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One comment on “Living with myself.

  1. I love the happy colors of your home.
    I love the happy colors of your soul.
    You are coming into your own and that is a happy color.
    You have NEVER been lazy, you have never been a slob…………..you have lived for two years with muddy colors and and mean, muddy people and now , finally, you can have happy colors surrounding you, in your home, your heart, your soul and your relationships. Never let go of happy colors.
    Those who call you lazy, a slob are damaged, sick people. ( My finger started to type “dick”……………………..Freudian slip?)
    Know that I love you with happy colors. My daughter. My friend. Love, Momma

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