It’s been a while since i sat in my study during daylight hours.
Get home just before the sun disappears below the horizon every day, in the cold, so not open windows. Just me, wrapped in my cocoon of silence.
Now, I’m sitting here, looking at a view that’s been the same, or relatively so, for the past 12 years.
Sure, the trees have grown bigger, the pots have multiplied, the grass probably became less, but my back garden has been there for quite some time. The same washing line, the same garden furniture. The birdcage, the toolshed. All familiar things. All things that I will have to pack up and take with, or more likely, sell before I move. I will have to get used to a different view altogether. I will have to remove myself from a place I thought I would die in.
That I might have to give up in the near future.
I say might, because I spoke to an Estate agent yesterday and he did not sound all that optimistic. A blog buddy also told me that the housing market is dead. At the moment at least.
When it will pick up again, I have no idea.
Then again. Do I really have a choice in selling? If I don’t find a job to pay my bond with, how long do you think before the bank sells my house out from under me, on auction no less, and we all know what happens on an auction – the house will be sold for only the price the bank needs to cover their own finances – what happens to me is not really their problem.
I feel the pressure from all sides.
Pressure to chase the machine. Pressure to help mom and myself to try and find a better life somewhere. Pressure when I think of the traffic I have to deal with again tomorrow. Pressure when I think of all the things I will have to pay at the end of this month with very little money.
Thankfully, in all this, my family and Mr P has been there. I think he will do nicely. Cooked us a meal yesterday, stayed with me the whole weekend. Fed the dog for me this morning while he let me snooze. He’s becoming much more accepting of my little foibles. Probably because he has a few of them himself. And even though he’s not quite the cuddly type, just having his warm body next to mine in the bed at night helps soothe my soul. Not to mention it’s way better than a hot water bottle! I speak to him more often than do anything else. We talk about our war with the world. Our reality as we see it. And sharing the problems we have with kids and life and money, the machine. It’s becoming more and more comfortable – yesterday was a very domestic day! He cooked, I did the laundry, and late afternoon, he took a bit of a nap while I took a nice hot bath. mom and a friend came to visit, and we looked at places, had coffee and chatted and laughed.
As unrealistic as it may seem, I do wish he could stay with me for longer than just a bit. I like having him around. Getting used to his smell, the timbre of his voice.
I’m not likening this to my previous love. That can never be replicated. What I’m finding with Mr P is not the absolute high of a romantic love, but the gentle mellowness of an adult relationship. Two people currently being tossed about in life’s stormy waters, trying to make sense of the mad chase for more money, more stuff, and finding some kind of solace in a shared experience.
He might follow me to the far reaches of the country – not because of love or anything like that, but because we do work well together. We have a similar outlook on life. We both need just a little bit of human contact to survive this earth for a while longer, and what better way than with a like minded human being. But also because he’s also been wanting out. And was maybe just wary of going the whole hog – with me down there already, forging ahead, he will have at least something familiar to work with, and fact is, I could use his skills on a farm.
I can deal with his peculiarities, the fact that he’s just as wary of full commitment as I am, yet we both still want and maybe even need, the warmth and presence of another human at our sides from time to time. I’m quite prepared to do what has to be done on my own, and mean to carry on like that until I die, but I can’t say that I won’t welcome his continued existence in my sphere.
And maybe that will be our saving grace.
Age. And the wisdom it brings. Not the storms of youth or hormones, just the gentle awareness and compassion that comes to you as you get older. The knowledge that there at least one person that looks at the world as you do.
Will never be easy, allowing another person in your personal space, but some people I can tolerate there much better than others. And Mr P is welcomed by my personal space.
Hope your Sunday is going well so far and will continue on that vein until it’s sleep time…