Maybe I am fucking angry.
I wrote that line last night —it was how I was feeling, and I’ve learned that writing is an excellent outlet for my anger. I was going to continue, but I stopped, ate a hearty bowl of soup as I watched the beginning of a movie and fell asleep.
It was freezing in the house so naturally my immediate assumption was that my brother turned off the heat because he knows how much I hate the cold. It would be his way to nudge me out of his house.
Stewing in my thoughts, I wanted to confront him, because it’s time I start speaking my truth to everyone, even if it results in an unpleasant consequence. Just because I don’t pay rent doesn’t mean I can’t speak up for myself when I’m too uncomfortable —my mind concluded.
But then there was that wiser voice, the one that sits much deeper than my thoughts, and knows that part of myself all too well, and can see how this plays out. I am way off my rocker. Nobody is trying to force me out of the house. Furthermore, if I told my brother that I was too cold in the house, he would be more than accommodating.
I wasn’t hungry, but a bowl of the lentil soup I made the day before sounded like a nice way to warm up. Food always seems to be an option when I am indecisive. Just as I was warming up a bowl, my brother came out into the kitchen.
“If you’re trying to freeze me out of the house, it’s working,” I said in the sarcastic way I do that helps my truth become more palatable. He explained he had the windows open to air out the place earlier and he didn’t know why the heat was off. No signs of expulsion.
I’m certain though he was annoyed to come home to a stinky house after being on a work trip for two weeks. He would never say it, but I know it must bother him because he bought a bunch of carpet fresh and Febreze, dousing the house so much it gave me a headache, but I didn’t tell him that part. The place did need to be freshened up, and I’ve used carpet fresh before too, so why make a big deal about it?
It’s my job to keep the house clean anyway. This isn’t a written rule or even a verbal agreement, but I have concluded with this in my mind since my brother does not charge me rent. At first, I insisted that I should pay, but him being the great big brother he is, wouldn’t take it, suggesting, I pay myself. It sounded nice, but my ego persisted, maybe I should find a way to not feel like I am freeloading.
We started a conversation about possibly having a weekly household chore list to do if I really wanted something official. My mind then glimpsed into the daunting feeling of having things ‘to do’ and leaned into the ‘pay myself’ option, remembering from all my spiritual studies to be more open to receiving.
I’ve grown more comfortable with the arrangement and sometimes even joke that it’s his punishment for all the times he was mean to me when we were kids. I suppose I have to have some way to ease my mind as I find my footing again.
I also help keep the yard maintained —the very large yard which is one of the primary reasons I came here. I needed a place to go with my dog, somewhere safe. Somewhere I could catch myself.
I was out of town for my sister’s bridal shower last weekend, so my father, who also takes harbor here, was taking care of Honey while I was away. She’s getting old, and her mobility isn’t what it once was, so in the mornings, it’s important to force her to ‘go potty’ before leaving for the day, or else she will shit in the house.
Apparently she did three times while I was away for those three days —which was most certainly what my brother was picking up on. He has a very keen sense of smell.
I noticed a bit of pungency too, but figured it was just time for another clean up after I missed the last two. I’ve put off my chores this week. Getting back Sunday evening and going straight to work Monday morning hasn’t given me any time to process and reset the way I like to do. The guilt starts to set in when I know there is something that needs to be done, and I am not doing it.
I feel like there are two versions of me —one who knows my responsibilities and takes pride in maintaining them, and the other, a mischievous child who likes to blame others or make up excuses for the way things are. If I act on impulse, I would let the child have her way, because she’s always so sure she is right. But when that more mature version of myself reviews the situation, I find major discrepancies.
I’ve learned to take pauses before I jump to conclusions — to find a middle ground, one where I show her that the world isn’t as scary and mean as she thinks it is. It’s something I think will forever be a part of my process, because as soon as I have overcome one version of this, a new one likes to show up.
I woke up frustrated again, because I keep telling myself I won’t eat late at night anymore. But the lentil soup loaded with veggies and spice didn’t sit nearly as heavy as the cheesy quesadillas I discussed in my blog, so I suppose it’s an improvement. I had a choice though – stir in my misery, or force myself into something I know will be good for me.
The mature version won over the child today. I had the time to take Honey on a walk that her arthritic body so desperately needs, and forced myself on a bike ride that I did not feel like going on. It was cold, and I could have easily stayed in, enjoying a cup of coffee and perhaps write in circles around my frustration, going deeper and deeper, finding the problem always points back to me.
The bike ride was a good choice though. When I made it to the park I saw all the geese there —the ones I’ve been watching and capturing videos of on my phone. They were fighting and defending their territory. There was even a family with their new goslings, one parent leading the way around the pond while the other one stood guard, watching out for predators.
It lifted my mood, and I was smiling again.