Mind Shift

Stepping back or to the side even just a little bit can render drastic changes to how you view things… sunlight filtering through tree branches may shift from being a glare in your eyes to a dance of light and shadows across lush, colorful textures of moss and bark.  It’s time to do a mind shift, to step back and look at everything from other angles so I can see what is going on here from other perspectives.

From one perspective… it is this song:

Change the word “mom” to “man” in the lyric that goes “I don’t get angry when my mom man…” and that’s what is going on here… and I’m waiting (again) for him to “come back to me” as he’s been MIA since yesterday morning. Oh, he did call last night, melting my irritation on “hey beautiful…” Sheez. Thing is, “life is too short so love the one you got” and I know he really does love me, even when he is three sheets to the wind before nine.

Step to the side a bit… what changed recently?

Frequency. What used to be once or twice a month comes faster and harder now. If I drew a time line, noting deaths and woes, it becomes obvious that he is drowning sorrows. Maybe he’s just got things on his mind that he can’t share, being the strong silent type and all.

 

COUPLE DAYS LATER (waking up alone again): Shift again… what am I forgetting?

Duh… he doesn’t live here… total complete brain shift.

Okay, so let us examine the facts… ignore that he has been here at least 330 days of the past year, has a lot of clothes and stuff here, does chores here, cuts the grass here, has keys to the doors and acts like he lives here… does he actually, really truely officially, live here? NO… he has his own apartment downtown. Does he get any mail here? NO… his mail goes to HIS address. Does he chip in or pay any of the bills? NO… he pays the bills for HIS place. Considering that he would be the first to say that you are supposed to “pay where you stay” and credit his dad for teaching him that lesson soon after he got his first job as a teenager, by his own rule or definition, call it whatever you want, he doesn’t really live here.

To give him credit, he does buy groceries… we both do. I usually spend more than he does at the grocers, so I don’t consider that a contribution to bills… the man eats what he buys, be it here or there.

I’m going to have to mull this over and think about it for awhile.

If he doesn’t really live here, I need to stop thinking that he does… is this the beginning of the end? Can two people go from living together (or thinking they were living together) to NOT living together without one thinking that the other doesn’t want them?

He stayed downtown last night to prep his apartment for the next stage of remodeling (time to put stuff back in closets, get it out of the way so they can finish the floors, etc.)  Naturally, the novelty of new everything will make him want to be there more… odds are he will want to take his big TV back downtown. I hate having a traditional living room anyway. Maybe he will take some of his other stuff back downtown, too. This might be a good time to claim some of my own space… that living room is ye 25% of my house and right now, it’s like rendered useless to me, a total waste of space. For me, it is just a walk through to the door as I don’t sit in there. I go in, dust and water plants… that’s it.

Maybe I’ll just do a little at a time…. claim a corner, than another. When I haul that big fluffy recliner chair out to the curb and put an easel or art table in there, I’ll let you know.

Thanks for reading.

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Lamp Post

Conversation with the vet:

Babe, what do you call this?
Uh… a lamppost.
I know it’s a lamppost, but what do you call it now?
It’s still a lamppost.
But, what is it? It’s got to be called something else.

So, what do you call a lamppost that looks a little different than other lampposts?

Drum rolls or eye rolls, we agreed on “artsy” as the adjective.
It’s just a lamppost, but… he can call it an artsy lamppost if he so pleases.
Give me time, sweet man. That rusty ol’ pole won’t be the first clue of an artist in residence.

I did give it a fresh coat of paint and pounded a wooden spoon paddle into the ground beside the base to help wedge it up a bit straighter. It’s the stained glass inserts that make him think it needs a new name. They were fun to make but took awhile as I had sold my glass grinder and my hands kept cramping up with bones locked in a shadow play duck position.

Photos snapped along the way:

Had to revamp this plan… clear glass was too thick for my came.

New plan… going with the blues. This is a “use whatcha got” project.

Forget the Dremel… this glass file works GREAT!

Hand cramps: with a flashlight and sheet, we could call that a duck.

Putting it together… yeah, it’s been awhile.
And I couldn’t find my plastic dodahs for the horseshoe nails.

All done… surprised it glows oranges.

Thanks for reading!

Closing Time

Semisonic’s Closing Time continuously plays in my head… it’s almost closing time, with a slightly different meaning than the song as I am not hanging out in bars… too stone cold sober for that. I’m just waiting to close this house deal so I can to go out to the place I will be from (to play with lyrics).

Please… take me home. Here’s one corner of the yard.

I’m thinking about planting Mars’ ashes in that far corner and marking his spot with art. The mosaic spores would add a nice splash of color between the tree and decorative grass.

I had hopes to be out of this apartment before Wednesday, August 31st, but… looks like I might be here for another week or two. My loan is approved, but we can’t close until the grant issuer has everything she needs. I’ll find out on Tuesday if she needs ONE MORE piece of paper.

Oh gosh, so much paper… so many i’s to dot and t’s to cross. I might exhale when we set a closing date. Nah, buying a house is a bit like opera… it’s not a done deal till the last page is signed.

What should I sing when I have the keys in hand?