“I am not a product of my circumstances.  I am a product of my decisions.”
-Stephen Covey.

*Yes, the title is mispelled.  It is mispelled on purpose, as are both those uses of “misspelled.”  They are, all three, misspelt (which is oddly correct, though it looks deplorable, doesn’t it?  It looks witchy and magickal.) by choice.  I decided to be wrong on purpose.

Mid Week 4 here as a transplant and, for almost every part, things are going well.

  1. Love the new job and them seem to love me back.  My co-workers are just that: workers.  They’re not lazy, duty-shirking gossips.  Nor are they boring; in fact, we spend so much time laughing with each other, I wonder if we’re going to be reprimanded for being too happy on the job.  (Not likely.)

    Getting Lost on Purpose, early morning ride through sunrise fog.  Greene Co, VA.
  2. I get lost – on purpose. The wayfinding, one of the best things about moving, in my humble opinion, is great. Traveling unfamiliar roads feeds my brain, and it’s good to gut-feel where I am, at least geographically.  If I have the time, I will take a new road just to learn where it goes and if it attaches to something I already know.  Getting lost is good; feeling lost is not.  I still have a little of the latter (just a teeny bit) but I’m not sure why.
  3. Moving in with manfriend after three+ years of long distance relating is going well; although, I did get a bit testy when I pulled from the cupboard another not-well-cleaned item.  He is used to wiping off something after using it; wiping off or quickly rinsing – not washing with hot water and detergent.  We call that “Bachelor Clean”, here.  And “Bachelor Clean” worked fine…until I moved in and realized that if I want to cook with a clean pot or eat from a clean dish or fork, it likely needs to be re-washed, clean.  Today, he pointed out that we are one month under the same roof.  I’m smiling typing that; it’s nice he is aware of stuff like that.  (I might have realized after the fact!)
  4. Men make noises and emit odors.  (Who knew?!) Somehow, I didn’t catch this previously, when living with other males.  When DD and I lived together for 13+ years, we had contests of noise and smell and they were cute, funny.  There is nothing cute or funny about any of this coming from men or teenmen.  I’m not complaining; just observing, and opening a window.
  5. My driver’s license is now location compliant as are the plates for my car, which arrived last week.  Manfriend attached them in celebration.  There’s no going back now.

So, these things were, at one time, all choices.  Deciding/giving into have a partner far away, to fully moving here and starting a new life (or re-routing my existing life to another location).  The circumstances are good, Mr. Covey, my decisions are healthy, for the most part, and yet part of me is beginning to slip down a slope to quietude; it was so easy to go there when I lived alone.  This morning, I have a couple hours before a service call is scheduled to visit here at the house; it might be a good time to get out and distract myself with some nature or a short ride down an unfamiliar road, and get lost a while.

They say you’re never really lost when you have yourself, and you’re always at home when you are at home with yourself.  This morning, I am somewhere in between ‘settled’ and ‘quite restless’.  I am a product of my circumstances:  new, somewhat unfamiliar, roughed out, still forming, exciting, exploring, inquisitive, tentative but courageous.

Today, I decide not ostrich and hide from solitude or the need to be alone a few hours.
I’ll be back.

1o Hours Later…I did not leave the house today.  Instead, I met the service person, who came to inspect the ducts for cleaning and possible more serious work/updating.  And I made dinner.  It was enough today.  Mentally, I went to the storage unit and re-organized things so I could find important stuff – like cookbooks and small art supplies, and my clothes and shoes. (I’ve been wearing the same eight items for a month with the exception of work garb) since I arrived.

It is late now.  Creeping just past 9:40 PM.  Manfriend has been in bed since 7, boy and dog are in their nests.  The familiar anxiety of not-sleeping is back and, frankly, I don’t like it at all.  I’m angry about it.  Not-sleeping is lonely and worrisome by nature; thoughts cascade and slur and make no sense; they pillage a good brain that would otherwise be working things out in sleep and dreams; it’s like I’m done but my governor says, “No, you are not finished so you are not allowed to sleep.”  What am I fighting?

Governor is a term I pinched from a friend.  She used it when speaking about one’s conscience or inner control device, the voice of reason (and, many times, lack of reason).  My governor is a controlling, fun-less, rigid and unforgiving ill-spirited and uptight entity.  It (genderless) is not around all the time but these nights when I am not-sleeping or going to bed, the governor is in control.  An overwhelming bully.  Just typing that feels disloyal; like, if I literally stood up and thought, “I am GOING TO BED!” the going to bed would be fine but the getting to sleep would be difficult, not allowed, challenging.  It would be weak.  Why the heck of all things would going to be be weak?!  No idea.  My hands are skyward in an ‘I give up’ goalpost.  Governor wins.

What this is or what causes it, I know not.  A good therapist would help point me to what I don’t want to see.  Maybe being too happy has a downside of guilt or lack of enjoyment, eventually?  I must turn in, not give in.  I must make a decision, mustn’t I?


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