Sanctum Sanctorium

This past Friday marked the first official week survived from the move.  We packed our boxes up relatively quickly with the help of a couple of movers who made everything look easy.  Oddly enough, the move was taking place just as I was simultaneously revaluating my hectic personal life and some snags I’d hit with Carlos.  When these troubles come, it’s sort of adulthood hitting you in the face and telling you to make these dramatic, life-changing decisions when you’re still fuzzy on the details and can’t turn to anyone for advice.  Yeah.  Like that.

Two weeks ago, we literally had to pack all of our stuff in one neverending day of sorting, arranging, arguing, vying for limited space (oh yeah, did I mention that the space we moved to is considerably smaller?) and feeling just awful.  I felt like the world was coming to an end but still tried to keep my cool as I was given instruction amid the chaos.  I think I did well because I did get my point across while working through the displeasure of the new, strange environment.  Let’s just say, I wasn’t a fan.

Click Your Heels Together Dorothy and say, “There’s No Place Like Home”

Three days prior to my temporary insanity, my sister had moved into my mom’s house.  This paved the way for me to be guilt-tripped into moving there as well because of my argument with Carl.  My head was spinning as my mom and sis took the lead, setting up appointments for us to view apartments even before I had the chance to breathe.  Note to Self: Don’t Do Anything Rash When You’re Angry. The first day was like I was on vacation, really.  I had packed a bag full of nothing I could use or needed, took Lady out of the house and split without really thinking about anything.  I just knew that I wanted out at the moment and that nothing was going to change my mind.  Hence, my temporary insanity.  It really was insane what I was doing.  I leapt because I really felt that I needed just to breathe and also because I was angry at Carl and because so many things were going on that I didn’t have a chance to think things through.

I am a firm believer that rash decisions make for rash actions.  Those are often stupid actions because you didn’t get to rationalize properly.  Also, you’re only doomed to make the same mistakes elsewhere if you never got to the bottom of the reason behind why you chose to leave in the first place.  You’ll just jump into the next worst thing for you and create new chaos without successfully dealing with the old chaos.  So that was the wrong thing for me.  I knew it.  I further knew it because my mom’s couch was not where I wanted to be sleeping.  I wanted to be sleeping in my bed, Goldilocks.  I would manage to ignore the 3 bears so long as they let me get a good night’s sleep.  Too much change at once was making me grumpy.  I worked really hard digging my groove.  Why was I gonna fly and start digging a new groove when the old song hadn’t finished playing?  This needle was going to try to skip the nasty scratch and try to play it through.

Then, It Got Worse:

I got sick.  Bad head cold from lying in my mom’s apartment, which hit subzero temps at night with the windows wide open and only a thin fleece sheath to cover me.  I was miserable.  This doesn’t have anything to do with my mom, by the way.  I was just in that uncomfortable place where I just wanted to sleep in a nice, warm bed and why can’t it not be my nice, warm bed when I worked so damned hard to get my body’s contours into the mattress anyway and why shouldn’t I feel wonderful there, dammit?! *ahem* I kept picturing my closet, all of the clothes sitting there lonesome and waiting for mama.  It was pitiful.  Then, I was sick and needed Carl to fix me one of his cup-o-soups or a coffee or a hot chocolate or whatever it was that would make me feel better.  Only Carl knows what I need when I’m sick and it wouldn’t hurt to force him to have to care for me when I was so angry at him in the first place.

I wasn’t sold right away.  I don’t think that any of my phone conversations snuck in between my showers and meals at mom’s place really convinced me.  I knew that we did have to talk things out, but it wasn’t like there was an enormous amount of apologizing going on.  We were both pretty ticked off, so we just kept on barking at one another as he went on to say that he missed me blahblah, and that I wanted to hear some things from him yaddayadda.  Neither one of us were stepping over the lines we’d drawn in the sand.  We’re both pretty stubborn when it comes to staying angry.  I wanted him to know the severity of my convictions and that’s why I lasted the whole four days.  OK.  Four days: big deal right?  But it was–for us–since we spend so much time together.  It’s been only him and me for YEARS now, and I just wanted to see if he understood just how hurt I was.  In the past, these were called lover’s spats or quarrels.  This was like that but somehow always seems more amplified when you are actually experiencing it firsthand.  It’s nothing like the advice you give your friends and all that.  You know that it’s no fun to take your own advice anyway.

The Bottom Line is that I needed to come home and there really is no place on earth where I feel more wanted, loved and comfortable.  Lord, Bless This Mess.  Oh, and No Stress: the key to SUCCESS.


About Lisa Perez

Lisa M. Perez is a published poet, editor, copywriter, public speaker and artist. The co-creator of the first ever ArtSpace in Jersey City, member of IUOMA (International Union of Mail Artists), and administrator for an online Mail Art group, Lisa supports the arts and advocates for creativity. Her successful, Art Journal and "Notes from my Brain" series are ongoing projects that evolve with the artist. In addition to being an active blogger since 2005, Lisa scripts and edits copy for various online articles and videos. In September 2017, she was a guest-speaker and virtually chaired a YOGA Recovery meeting. In her spare time, Lisa studies, reads, and creates while maintaining a day job in a STEM field and being a full-time fur-mommy to her shih-tzu, Cher.
This entry was posted in I'm A Poet...and I Didn't Know It, Let's Just Invite The Family, Look Into My Crystal Ball. Bookmark the permalink.

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