Words Again

I’m back to playing with words again, after binge watching 8 seasons of “Shameless” on Netflix.  Considering that I’m not one to lay around watching TV,  that pretty much says everything.

Yeah, I was a bit depressed, let a down day stretch into a few. I tried drawing, took watercolor pencils out to the porch. It didn’t help. Too many echos of other people’s words in my head, cutting me down, colossal waste of time. Do I hear voices? No, just audio memories.

Doc finally listened to me, changed my script to Lexapro, but I’ve been holding off on taking them. Best to let time pass, make sure that Wellbutrin is totally out of my system (has been, odds are was out before she wrote the script) but the real deal is I’m trying to ride it out. Depression is a riptide. Sometimes, you just have to float awhile.

The TV was off when the vet startled me with words at my open window. I was on this computer, revising a poem. He came to swipe the last few green tomatoes. I don’t know how long he was standing there. He could have been watching me for awhile. My writing is private. I toss words to the wind via this internet as public as can be; but, I don’t share anything that I write with him.

There’s still a hint of awkwardness between us, but not as awkward as it used to be.

Oh, he still has a burr about being “put out” even though I didn’t put him out… he left. There is a difference. Besides, one has to be IN before they can be put OUT and he was never fully committed, didn’t trust me enough to actually move in. He just stayed with me when and if he felt like it, came and went as he pleased, which dwindled from mostly here to an average of mostly gone over the last year. We broke up on 4th of July because I thought he was cheating on me. That freshly cut house key on his key chain was the last straw. He refused to tell me whose door it opened, couldn’t even tell me who cooked the chicken, so I figured he didn’t need a key to mine.

In all fairness, it’s not like I ever had a key to his place.

Was he cheating? He says no… all evidence points to the contraire. I ask myself questions: Does it really matter? What do I want out of this? He knows, just as well as I do, that most women won’t put up with his shit. Even if he finds someone else to play with, it’s only a matter of time before they say BYE and now he knows that I won’t put up with THAT shit, even if he never admits it.

I don’t know what the future holds.  I do know this awkwardness has to be completely gone BEFORE he brings his granddaughter over here to spend the night as kids pick up on everything… he doesn’t want her to visit with him at his apartment, says it is too crazy there. Well, yeah… if that’s where you party so you got crackerjacks knocking on your door at all hours, that’s no place for a child.

Bottom line, we still love each other. Maybe we will work it out, maybe we won’t… time will tell.

Sometimes I feel like his pot of soup bones, that he’s just trying to keep me on the back burner for awhile, boil me down slow, stir me with a hug and a kiss now and then while he figures out exactly what he wants.

Well, I have nothing else to do… as in, no desire to seek a new romance or anything. No desire to do much of nothing with this depression hanging over me.

To help pull myself out of this funk, I’m making PDF versions of those little chapbooks that I used to make when I lived downtown. Plan is to post them on YBWorks.com (my other WordPress blog) so anyone can print and fold their own copy. The first went up the other day, if you want to look.

I’m just going to have to make myself go places and do stuff… been floating long enough, about time to swim like hell but I don’t have the energy. Not yet… takes all I can do to hide this and pretend to be normal around other people.

I started knitting a thin scarf awhile back, something to wear with a brown sweater this winter.  It’s slow going as I’m not into it at all. What I really want is a shawl so I regret not casting on enough stitches. I had another ball of yarn so I started a shawl in Solomon’s Knot last night.  My last gift from my grandmother was in Solomon’s Knot so there is sentimentality in the pattern.

I feel like I need to finish something. I haven’t even finished the room that I started painting in July. All it needs is door and window trim, then get someone to help me hang the wallpaper border. I told the vet that I am going to move my kitchen table in there so I can use it as a work table and the man rolled his eyes.

Yes, literally. He actually rolled his eyes at me tonight. As if I’m not going to actually use that room for anything but storage. I’m supposed to be working on me, getting my “me” back… well, THAT ME makes art and all sorts of crap. All I need is a new kitchen table to replace this one and right now, I don’t care if it is a cheap folding card table, just something to put in the kitchen until I find something else as I’m going to get that room done this weekend.

Yeah, keep on rolling those eyes… I’m defiant enough to prove him wrong.

Thanks for reading!

 

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