Thunder and Quiet Mornings
There are things to do today. I like days like this, days where I can clean and organize the trailer with nobody around to get in my way. Up whenever I want, doing whatever I want. But first, a shower, to let the hot water wash certain feelings down and off my face.
Jason is home.
Somewhere between the shower and now, I got things clean and done. It smells nice. The animals are chilled out. The lights are off, curtains closed. It’s rainy, with a chance of thunderstorms, mostly to the south of us. I wanted to hurry through my shower before it hit.
We live in a trailer. With thunder and lightning? No, thank you. Ever since I was young, living in Tucson, storms have scared me.
CLAP. BANG. POW. BOOM.
Absolutely amazing, honestly, in its own way. The kind of thing that takes me right back to a movie theater trip at the Foothills Mall as a kid.
Wow.
I put my head down on the couch at eight and slept clear through, past my usual wake-up window of two or three in the morning, every stinking night, except tonight. I woke at 12:30 instead. Did my thing, wandered around, turned on a light, made coffee, and sat outside on my phone until four. In and out, picking things up, running the dishwasher. If we leave dishes in the sink, the whole trailer catches the smell fast.
I sat outside waiting for Jason to get up.
He didn’t.
Different hours at work tonight. I knew that; I’d just forgotten. He has the next two Fridays off too, starting tomorrow.
I said goodbye to him and came in to sit at my makeshift desk, trying to organize the day. Jason stepped on his glasses somewhere in there, so Ann Arbor is officially on the calendar.
The day ended with me falling asleep during the Lions’ preseason game against Cincinnati, right at the start. I woke up to lights and noise and an urgent need to pee, and by the time I made it to the hallway, there was already light coming from under the door.
Jason. Always.
The Lions lost, but it’s only preseason, second and third string against Cincinnati’s first team. They wanted to beat Detroit badly. Fair enough. Come on, Detroit. Get it together.
Small Projects and New Paths
Before the game, we ran into Adrian for a Lowe’s trip, looking for edging for the garden and the front bed too, somewhere for tulips and daffodils come spring. The back border needs to weave around the irises and stepping stones with red rock and mulch.
A project, and a chore. Carving a new path.
Speaking of paths, I had an appointment with Minister Williams at three. A good one, again. This time his wife joined, a nice woman whose name I keep forgetting, though I’ve seen her before, sitting up and to the left. We talked about learning, about where to even start.
The Book of John.
That’s where.
Now I just need to find the time.
A Night by the Pond
It’s Saturday morning, early. I’ve been up since before midnight. Logan was up too, out listening to frogs at the pond, and I walked up to sit with him. We talked, we listened, we laughed.
And laughed.
I went home to grab him a blanket and accidentally snuck up on him in the dark, blanket ready, meaning only to cover him against the early chill. He was tipsy, and the night was peaceful and serene right up until he heard a footstep behind him.
He spun around to find nothing but a blue blanket coming at him and let out a scream loud enough to make me jump too. He nearly ended up in the water. Still screaming. We laughed until we couldn’t breathe.
And then, right on cue:
Ribbit.
Croak, croak.
Time to go in, somewhere around four or five in the morning. Lily pads everywhere.
The Weight I Carry
I’m overloaded today. It’s Sunday, a day of rest, a day meant to calm the mind and cleanse the soul. Service starts at 10:30, but it’s 8:01, and I’m outside, stuffed up, eyes dry, still in my pajamas, watching the forecast call for strong storms right around the time service begins.
I’m sorry, Minister Williams. I’m staying home today. My mind is heavy, and our step-grandson is here besides. Trevor and the family came for dinner and euchre last night, and he wanted to stay over.
Of course he did.
He’s parked in the sleep chair now, watching soccer on YouTube, happy as anything. I’m out in my corner in the lounge chair Logan dragged around the other night so he could sleep outside. Or maybe that was last night. My hours are all scrambled these days. Not exactly comfortable reaching for the computer out here, but here I am.
Is this what the CT scan read? Is this why?
I knew something was wrong. Tripping, falling, blood work out of sorts, medicine not working the way it should, thyroid and blood sugar both elevated. The headaches. The stuffiness. My throat. That choking feeling in my neck.
Sound familiar?
Even the doctors don’t have much for me. Alone again. Without you.
Sarah read the report. Not a word about why I’ve been seeing her for the past eight months. That’s the part that gets me. It all adds up, and there’s still no simple fix for feeling this worn down.
Here we go again.
What do I do, where do I go, who do I actually talk to? I already know what you’re going to say. I’m working on it, because this is my mental health and my physical health both, all sides of it. I need someone who will actually hear me.
I know what you’re going to say.
I love you for that, though. Amen.
This is where I am. I’m handing over thirty pages to show where life has taken me since everything changed. I hope it’s not too much. I hope you enjoy getting to know me, the way I’m trying to get to know you too.
A Long Night
11:48 PM.
I finished the letter around six, came straight in, and put myself down on the couch. Out. Tired, tired. I even snored, apparently, which Jason felt the need to point out, for no reason other than to snicker.
Whatever.
I went back outside afterward to listen. Now I’m here. Hot, thirsty, sweaty, not wanting to go back in.
The fresh air.
On nights I fall asleep early, Jason closes everything back up while I’m out, and it gets stuffy and suffocating. So when I wake, I go around opening it all again, a broken record.
It’s the middle of the month. Nothing left in checking or savings, credit maxed, two weeks to payday, flat broke, typical for this stretch. Rick’s been a big help, more like family than most of the family we actually have left. Which feels like it keeps shrinking, not that it was ever large.
Getting paid once a month makes everything harder than it needs to be. Rick’s a steady thing in the middle of it. A rock.
I wonder if I’ll hear from Sarah soon. Probably not. She should call. I’m going to make this my problem too, whether anyone likes it or not. I’m tired of people, honestly.
Jason was upset with me over something before he left for work, at three in the morning. I don’t have the energy for this. I don’t want to have the energy for this.
There’s no getting around it easily. But I’ll get through it, same as always.
3:25 AM.
Quiet now. Lights down, Jason gone. Time for bed, in my own room, my own comfortable bed.
I’m about at my limit. Up to my ears with all of it.
Leave me alone, just for tonight.
Time to open another window and let the crickets in.
Goodnight.
3:38 AM.
Waiting for the Plan
7:34 AM.
Good morning. I woke to the sound of Logan in the bathroom, having forgotten to open my window again. He’s staying home today, a relief day maybe. He needs to pick up his glasses in Tecumseh and asked to take me to breakfast.
Food. No, thank you. Lunch instead, I told him.
He’s grumpy, still not quite himself, and closes his door on the way out.
I had a rough night too, up and down, up and down, which sets up a rough day to follow. I already feel overloaded, weighed down by things I don’t want anymore, things that make me feel low and unhappy, every single day. How do I get away from it?
I don’t.
What, why, where, who?
Be completely humble and gentle, be patient, bearing with one another in love.
Ephesians 4:2.
I’m sorry. I can’t, not today.
Onto today. Hazy, sixty-nine degrees, a high of eighty-one. Not too hot, not too sticky. Nearly perfect, except for one thing.
9:37 AM.
I don’t like it here anymore. Thinking about it, I don’t think I ever really did. It’s been a constant battle, one I’m ready to walk away from.
Kind of.
I don’t have the things you’d need to make it entirely on my own. So I’m biding my time. On a mission, remember? Today, that’s the work: being patient.
I don’t want to clean. I don’t want to talk. I just want to leave. I feel sick. All it takes is one look at this trailer sideways, and the whole thing feels like it’s about to fall apart.
A big mess.
10:14 AM.
Feels like 9:37 was hours ago. It wasn’t. Outside I go. I think I’ll put on music, put on headphones, and get lost for a while.
Lost.
It’s seventy-one degrees now, a chill on my arms, and I can’t quite make myself step off the porch. The sun’s starting to peek through.
What to do, what to do?
I’m sure it’ll disappear the second I go out. This is Michigan, after all. Right now, though, the sky’s blue, the sun’s out, a small breeze moving through. Beautiful.
1:10 PM.
Jason will be home in about fifty minutes.
Wonderful.
Just great.
I feel like I could be sick, and honestly I’d rather that than another argument. Go away, whatever this feeling is.
No relief in sight, and I’m not doing well. Restless, irritable, a stomachache on top of it, head stuffy, tired and not tired all at once. Happy, sad, mostly just mad at everyone.
“It’s because you have no medicine.”
No. It’s because I have no patience left.
I need you to back off.
Breathe.
Remember the plan.