Between the life that we expected and the way things have always been...
I am not sure what I expected.
And I am still trying to figure out what I have got going on in my brain, that causes me to create these situations I do. But it seems to be, that's the way it's always been. I just never noticed it early on. I mean, I am painting my house, 14 days before Christmas! What kind of insanity is that?! And, I swear, my house keeps getting bigger!
The reason I know I am stressed --oh, did I mention I was stressed just a tad? --- is that, I just cut my hair this morning. I am a (retired) hairdresser. And I cut my hair at times when it really doesn't need cutting, and I have realized, through the years, that this (power) works as some kind of therapy for me. My husband comes home,.. looks at the sink, says "you cut you hair again"... with the little knowing smile (fear)...
next, will be finding the milk in the pantry and the eggs in the cupboard with the mops and the beans or, forgetting to put the coffee carafe on the hot plate part of the coffee maker and wondering, 'just_what_is that brown line coming down the counter?' -- which I did yesterday. Very confusing site, that. It never reached the floor, just kept traveling along the counter towards me. Eerie. Like a Stephen King movie.
I didn't expect living la vida loca in the ebb and flow of my daily comings and goings. But, here I am. Painting my house a color that I am not crazy about 2 weeks before Christmas! Ha!
Last night I had a moment. I was painting away and made a star, accidently, on the wall. I got carried away with making things - I was using a roller - and felt peaceful at the moment and into what I was (or thought I was) creating there, and didn't realize that I was tilting the paint tray. Towards me. I was covered with globs of paint running down my left sleeve. I didn't want to yell out, didn't warm to alarm anyone -- it's only paint on my favorite knockaround old sweater -- so I laughed out loud.
In my house that always works to get attention because everyone is always saying, 'what is so funny?' Not that I laugh at my family all the time, but certain things strike me as funny, that maybe they don't think are so funny... So, when I began to laugh hysterically, I heard the cries of 'what is so funny?' (you have to say this with a tad bit of annoyance to appreciate it)...but someone came to help me.
Now. I was in a corner. Stuck. Behind a computer desk and another desk that had been pulled out about, oh say, 3 feet. There was no place to put the paint tray or roller down. (I said I was 'painting'; I never said I was a 'painter who might know what they are doing')
Well, once paint is on a roll, it doesn't stop, even when you straighten the tray. Does life get like that? We start a way of living and it just keeps rolling? And then by the time we are mature enough, or enlightened enough, to look at it...we are just *there* -- not 'getting our act together' anymore, but instead, 'this is our act' --in Scene XXXXXLMIV - enter assorted relatives at holiday crunch time... etc?
Oh well. In the hard light of an angry sun, no one 'mentions' what was said or done, I suppose, if we are just tender...tender to ourselves through the mess-ups we make, tender to the people who help us make the mess-ups and the ones who help us through the mess-ups, tender to the people who don't even know they are making us crazy enough to throw paint or cut our hair off, then I suppose we can say, All is Well.
I hear a paint brush calling. It will have to wait until I get back from the Chiropractor. (Actually, I think the paint brush said a bad word.)
That's all for now.
~~ Special Thanks to Jackson Browne for the Song Tender is the Night ---
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