satyapriya: Macchu Picchu 2009 (Default)
It's a quiet day after Christmas. Some people are back at work, others still on holidays. Hot weather, a north wind, which always gives people the irrits, as my mother would say. PizzaBoy is just back from seeing to the invalid needs of MotorCycleMan, who is still off-road, and off-work, due to his bike falling on his leg. PB has been going out weekly to shop for MCM, take him to appointments, and earlier, manage laundry, and overseeing the refurbishment of MCM's manky bathroom floor.
PB, until just this moment, has been sitting in the stream of air-conditioning, just being. He looks exhausted, beetroot red. I know he wants to download his day to me, but I can't. I simply can't. I promised myself a blog entry, and if I'm to stick with my promises to myself, I have to come at the idea that I can't be endlessly available to everyone, despite what they might want of me.
This is a difficult one for me. I am a people-pleaser, and Marge Piercy's poem 'To Be Of Use' is stuck deep in my psyche. My mind chose to interpret this being of use as being of service, and being of service meaning to be available.
Well, this doesn't serve me any more. I simply can't be open 24/4 to whatever news family wish to park on me, whatever needs doing, whatever huge emergency which always turns out to be not an emergency.
I have to learn to be self-ish. For me to say to my family: "I'm sorry, I'm not available right now, even though you see me sitting here in the lounge, where it's possible I'm just checking facebook, but I'm actually not, I'm trying to blog, or write a paragraph of a flash fiction, and there's no way for you to tell as you approach me" is a giant step. One I'm not comfortable with, but has to happen.
For my own sanity, for the whole of the second half of my life, I have to train to get in shape to follow my path.
So, no, PB, your download of your day, is not for right now. My phone is still in my bag where I can't see any flashing lights. My ipad is in my bedroom. I sit here, on the brown couch, and make a first foray into 'my own time'. I've tried this many times before, and faltered. Eyes on the prize, Satya. The prize being me.
Even the most dedicated of magpie parents get to the stage of pecking junior on the head to finish kicking them out of the nest. This time, it's me kicking myself out of the dedicated motherhood nest, and claiming the Enchantress stage of life. Turning to my own Polaris star, and starting to navigate my life anew.
Scary, and exciting.
It starts with 'no'.
satyapriya: Macchu Picchu 2009 (Default)
Ages after everyone else has trooped over here, I've finally arrived. I've looked around, and made myself a little comfy on the old brown couch. I've yet to haul up the cushions, the blankies, the dog, and install a couple of the cats, to say nothing of switching on the salt crystal lamps, and clicking on Sacred Earth's newest cd.

Tonight, at nearly 7pm, I'm puzzling over what to say. I've left behind 12 years of lj blogging to start fresh here. Same old life, brand new space. At my feet is Penny the black cat. She's about 8 years old now, and if it's true that a black cat houses the soul of a witch, it's no wonder the poor girl is crabby most of the time. She grumps at us instead of meowing. Every morning, she hops up on the husband's pillow and subtly combs his hair with her claws. She's given up trying to hook a claw up his nose now that he has a CPAP machine. No fun to be had there. So she scrapes at his scalp until he gets up and feeds everyone.
She has her back to me, as is her way, and is somewhere between dozing, and simple disapproval of me being on the brown couch with the computer in my lap. How dare I do that and not have room for Penny.

Soon I'll retire to bed to continue reading 'Riding The Bus With My Sister'. I didn't expect this book to be an uncomfortable read, but the narrator's sister has an intellectual impairment. TwentiesPerson, my adult offspring(born male, but identifies as female) has a mild intellectual impairment. I suspect a combination of reading this book, and dealing with some stuff related to his impairment recently has lead to a series of anxiety dreams. Simply awful dreams that push all my deepest buttons. Thus, this morning, I awoke distressed. The dream flavour stayed with me all day, and I hope to not encounter the vibe of it when I get back into bed tonight. I've sprayed the sheets with sweet orange and rose geranium oils, so oils, do your uplifting thing.
TwentiesPerson was, on lj, known as TwentiesBoy, and TeenBoy before that, but I feel that I should try to be generous with his self-identification. As a language, English needs more pronouns. I know it's acceptable to refer to them as 'them' and 'they', but to me, it sounds like I'm referring to a committee. I have tried zis, and zer, zim, zes, and ze, but I can't keep it consistent. So, here, you've met TP, as he/she/ze will be known on this blog, and you've met me, SatyaPriya.
That's likely enough to start with. I do hear that long blog entries are super-unfashionable.
Tough.

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