Oh the Horror!

Dear readers,

It started at the age of 30. I secured my freedom on the road to becoming self-sufficient. The delicious thrill of being on my own, living, thinking and having time for me.

Rewind……….

I was married at the age of 24. The first two years was stella. The last four years were like scenes from Dante’s Inferno. At the age of 30 with the help of my family and friends I escaped.

Fast-forward…….

Twenty three years later, four degrees, one self-published novel, three successful seasons singing first Soprano with the New York City Downtown Chorus, and a supporting role in the Christian play “Oh Lord Why did I get Married?”

Hooray you say job well done.

So, why do I feel like a failure? Years of working three-part time jobs to pay for college and to keep a roof over my head. The end results I haven’t gotten that high paying dream career I worked so diligently to have.

I thought at this stage I would have a better partner to settle into a long-term loving relationship. Another pipe dream lost. The final blow I live in a state (New York City) where the landlord’s greed rules and even though everyone’s money is the color of green, if a person is white and can pay higher rent they are privileged to live in the best neighborhoods.

I am faced with making the choice of sharing an apartment after living in my own space for twenty-three years. I ask myself over and over, How can I co-habitate with a stranger? I am a clean freak, who likes a quite home, a peaceful home is important for me to keep my sanity.

OMG. The fear of seeing someone’s boyfriend coming out of the bathroom in his underwear. Someone eating my food or secretly going through my belongings. The real estate market is such that living on one’s own would require working a tremendous number of hours to cover the rent alone.

Today, I had an appointment at a roommate finders’ agency, the realtor asked me” what am I willing to give up  to acquire a place where I can have all my belongings with me, and to make a fresh start.”

At this present moment, I don’t know how to answer that question.

What say you?

 

 

Come Sunday

Dear readers,

If you’ve been  following me lately, I’m so obsessed  with my plight that I didn’t see the brick-wall in front of me. When I smashed into it I became fully aware how burnt out, and drained I am. Today, I faced the writing on the wall. At this present time there is nothing I can do to solve my living situation, short of spending my life savings to hire an over paid realtor who will show me apartments that don’t suit me or the rent is above my pay grade. I’ve gained 15 pounds, cancelled two trips, put all writing projects on hold and ended a very promising relationship. I’ve  helped people in my same situation, that was all good and dandy until I found myself in the same predicament.

No one told me that life still goes on. And to continue to live as though I’m still living in my own space. My biggest problems is trying to deal with the feelings of shame and embarrassment. I want this darkness to be over tomorrow but it won’t. My belongings are in storage, and so on and so on…….

So, I decided to listen to the voice inside my head that keeps whispering, ” stop beating yourself up.” To kick-start my road to recovery I created a list in the order of importance. Of course locating a new place to live is at the top. But in the meantime, I’ve secured more of my belongings from storage, re-booked both trips, and completed week one of a two-week fitness camp, working my way to a healthier life. And I stopped ignoring my family and friends for expressing their concern about my pity party.

Today is Sunday, I attended my first family dinner. It’s amazing how good food, great wine, laughing, smiling , getting much-needed hugs helped me to realized how good life is.

What say you?

Is it Just Me?

Dear readers,

My son says, “Embrace the transition,” Well i say, ” excuse me for having a moment of insanity.” It’s been 22 days since I was ousted from my home of six years. I’ve never been without my own SPACE. I’ve relocated from one place to another but always to a place of my own for me, myself and I plus a pet or two. I’ve never had a roommate. The word roommate scares me and sends me into a place in my head that I don’t want to visit. I’ve lived alone for 23 years. It wasn’t easy at first this living alone. I was divorce at the age of 30 after six years of marriage. I made many adjustments like: learning to cook for one, how to sleep on both sides of the bed, to keep the mattress from getting lopsided. Eating alone and coming home to an empty house was the most difficult part of being alone. The bed is colder in the winter without the warm of that extra body. Over the years I had my own version of roommates’ dog, cats, three parakeets, a turtle named Franklin and a fish called bear.

I buried myself in establishing a career as an educator, developed my skills as a writer, playwright, and singer. Mother of one fabulous son and grandmother of three, at the age of 53, I can’t call myself homeless, but it feels like I am. A friend and her 24 years old fresh out of Boston College son took me in. So, what all the fuss? I have a good roof over my head, my own room with AC, close to the bathroom, and in an area of the house that is quiet.  It’s only the three us, we have different schedules very much like ships passing in the night. It took me 10 days to unpack and to personalize the space I now live in. I can’t say home, I either say the space I sleep in or the place I live for now.

I feel like a caged bird. I miss lying across my sofa and channel surfing. I miss my weekend Saturday breakfast tray in bed and the afternoon nap. Or coming home siting in my favorite, big, black, leather chair and relaxing with a glass of Merlot and listening to Joseph Hayden’s Mass in the Time of War. I feel like I’m tip toeing around. I worry if I made too many trips to the bathroom, or kept the lights on too late blogging, reading and grading papers. As soon as I arrive there I would prefer to go directly to the room I sleep in, but not to seem anti-social I sit in the dining room and chat.

I have spent 23 years of my life living alone. Besides having the occasional boyfriend. I dwelled in my own space alone. My son says that I should embrace learning how to live with other people. He has a point. I just might end up with a roommate, I live in New York City and the rents are $$$$$$$$$$$$. Living with a roommate scares me more than living alone.

Stay tune for more…………………………..

The Duel

Dear readers,

The allegory of the sword and the pen

One is no more dangerous than the other.

How say you?

The blade of the sword is Sharpe it’s made for cutting.

Well, the pen has a Sharpe tip that is capable of cutting with words.

Yes, I see your point.

They both can lose their edge.

Edge?

Yes, the sword becomes dull and needs to be sharpened.

The pen will run out of ink and must be refilled.

I see, but the sword can draw blood.

The pen will bleed if the top is removed.

A sword is used for protection.

Did you ever hear that the pen is mightier than the sword?

This is nonsense there is no comparison, a sword is bigger, powerful, dangerous and heavy.

Yes, but a pen is small, swift, light weight, and easy to conceal making it a secret and deadly weapon.

Aha! swords are used by knight who serve at court.

The ladies who write love letters to these lords of courtship use feather pens.

Touché’

What say you?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Faking the Funk

Dear readers,

“Letting Go”

What does it mean to let go?  When people get a divorce, they are told, let it go and move on. So, what they’re saying is let go of the reason for falling in love, having children, and making memorizes? When people lose the career that they spend a life time to achieve, they are told to let go and move on. The question is move on to what? To a job market that is uncertain, and God forbid if your over forty, then you face age and maybe gender discrimination, or starting from the bottom again. Does letting go means pretending that the situation, problem, or the event didn’t happen? Does letting go and moving on mean a clean slate and starting over again? How many times have you heard, suck it up, take your licks like a man, don’t cry over split milk, pick yourself off the ground, let it go and move on. I say, feel the pain of the lose, go through the stages of shock, grief, denial, and acceptance before letting go and moving on. In some circumstances people are too eager to move on that they don’t take time to find closure or make peace with what they couldn’t change. Unfortunately, it occasionally takes a brick wall so to speak for people to realize that they have been carrying around emotional baggage, resentment and bitterness all because they were eager to “Let Go and Move On”

What say you?

Invasion of Space

Public display of affection (PDA) Romantic Gestures or Not?

We have witnessed couples French kissing in public, or the couple kissing every two seconds, and groping each other. They don’t appear to be uncomfortable with public displays of affection leaving the people around them squirming, cringing and rolling their eyes in disapproval thinking “Get a Room.” The question is how much public display of affection is over bearing, and are there places that are off-limits like, public transportation, the beach, parks, and the middle of the street. Is public display of affection an expression of love or just bad etiquette and inappropriate? In some cultures, PDA is taboo and regarded as disrespectful. Why do people feel the need to indulge in public displays of affection?

What Say You?

 

Within These Walls

Dear readers,

Does it matter why or how people are displaced from their home, apartment, hut shack or igloo? The space people personalize with a favorite chair, coffee or tea-cup; and an old creaky bed that sleeps comfortable. The walls painted with colors that reflect the celebration of life and love. Pictures hung in the right places capturing silent stories, moments of laughter and sorrow. HOME a scared abode, where children are raised, grandchildren visit, where parents and grandparents are nurtured during their golden years.

For the first time in my life I am  lodging in someone else’s space; having been dislocated from my corner of paradise. I sit in my room, where there are no pictures of familiar faces, sleeping in a strange bed, sitting on a wooden chair, one single lamp, void of a writing or vanity table.  My belongings are stored in suitcases and an overnight bag. Such strange and uncomfortable feelings because I don’t know how to be in someone else’s’ space. They say that I should “make myself at home.” How Can I make someone else’s home feel like mine? Is this possible?

I am deeply grateful to the family for their kindness during this time of hardship. But I worry about proper etiquette. I lay awake at night thinking did I clean after myself? Or would it be insulting to my host family if I slept in on my days off? Can I have a cup of tea and a snack in my room before bedtime? I don’t know how long finding my own space will take. I am told “There is no rush take your time.” How much time are they referring too?  This is all so unsettling?

What Say you?