How does my delightfully crazy brain decide it has made the wrong decision? It does something new.
I know, that seems totally weird. For the last 2 freaking years, I have blogged about nothing except the desire to sit still, to have a place of my own to relax and ponder the mysteries of the universe and make catty comments about them.
So as of friday, I officially moved all of my worldly possessions into a sweet little Walden-freaking-pond-esque cabin on a tiny lake at the end of the road and pretty near immediately panicked.
To be fair, I pretty much immediately went to sleep, being that the whole week of being in the koots and realizing how much I miss it, packing a truck, driving to Vernon, packing some more with the help of most amazing road tripping friend, driving through the most insane rain storm I have ever experienced, showing up at the ferry to discover it was 80 dollars more than expected because UHaul are commercial rated bitches and it’s a long goddamn weekend-you’ll be lucky if you get on this boat, much less the next three, roll into p.r and have some good friends help you unload everything you own into a tiny cabin which might suddenly leave you feeling as though you have too much stuff or not enough cabin can make one pretty exhausted. So I slept.
And awoke to a chaotic mess of hoarder hallways, cardboard boxes filled with things I haven’t looked at in nearly 2 years, things I’m not sure I even want anymore. The books I’ve missed, the records, the piano. But the stuff? Some of it, I can’t remember where it came from, who gave it to me, why I have it. I’m in a tiny house surrounded by someone else’s things!!!
Which of course leads to the thought pattern, I’m in a tiny house living someone else’s life!!! Which is just silly because this is precisely what I’ve been asking for.
Besides, new and different is my thing! It’s what I can handle! Ah, but what if the thing which is new is sitting still and not living in a constant state of flux, anticipating what will happen when I am in fact not moving? That’s actually kinda freaky.
How horrible is it to get exactly what you’ve asked for.
This is, I think, the crux of my troubles a lot of the time. I figure out how to ask for what I want, but then I don’t make any provisions for what will happen when it shows up.
It’s like when a friend of mine was in Italy. Now he speaks fluent French, being that he is. But he does not speak fluent Italian, which kind of makes sense because he isn’t. He needed directions and so looked up in the how to speak Italian book, how do I get to the train station. He practiced and felt confident and was really pleased by the notion that soon he would find his way to the station and catch a train. Huzzah! So he approached a man and asked him “Come faccio ad arrivare alla stazione ferroviaria?” (I’m only presuming that’s what he said because that’s how google translate told me it should be said. That does not mean it is right, or at least exclusively right.)
And the man replied in Italian. Fast Italian because, being from there, he was excessively comfortable speaking the language. And while I’m sure it was beautiful to listen to, it did not help my friend get to the train station because while he had prepared himself for the asking, he had not considered the repercussions. He had the information he had asked for, but had no way to understand or process it properly.
He told me this story when I first got to France, to better prepare myself for the possibility (probability?) that this might happen to me as well. But with French, rather than Italian, not that I was any more fluent in either of those languages. Nor Flemish either, just to be perfectly clear. And he was right, I even ran into the same issue when asking a French person for directions. He smiled and said in perfect english, “did you get that?” We had a good laugh and I ended up getting lost anyhow.
But it’s a thing that I do. I can only presume that others do it too as I’ve discovered the human condition has many universalities. (But I’m not here to talk about them, except in context of how they make me look saner or crazier or however it works in that moment. I refuse to make any claim to having any effect on anyone’s personal decisions with regard to the ludicrous ramblings that come from my headbrain. There’s my disclaimer, lawsuit averted. )
At any rate, here’s how it works. I think I might like a thing, whether directions to the train station, a house on a lake, a chimichanga, whatever. I decide I would like that thing. I decide I would like it soooo much that I am expressly entitled to it! Goddamn it I deserve such a thing! Don’t I? Aren’t I lovely and kind and sweet and not killing puppies and only being sad sometimes without good reason and don’t I deserve whatever the fuck I get it into my now and again batshit crazy brain that I would desire? NOW GIVE ME MY THING UNIVERSE!! Or I will talk about wanting it some more. All over the internets. All of them.
And so, the universe, being in no way associated with the individual desires and wants of one solitary star dust mote breathed into being by circumstance, chance and odds so literally astronomical they’re called “we’re not even sure and we’re science” lines up all of it’s (as though the universe could be pigeonholed into something as mundane as “it’s”) errant stars into a pattern so complex, astrologists don’t know most of them exist and kabang! Girl person ends up in exactly the right place at the right time to discover a cabin advertised in the newspaper!!! It’s as though it was just waiting there for me to find it. Magic.
Then it was just a matter of driving out there, looking at it, deciding it was cute and blue and next to a lake and was pretty much exactly what I had asked for. So I moved in. And promptly lost my mind for a day or two.
Swine universe. Aligning all the bloody stars in all the bloody heavens to produce exactly the type of dream shaped reality I have desired. Making me a bed that I now have to lie in. And it’s so bloody comfortable. Just thought of everything, didn’t you?
That thing I never account for, which still surprises me because it’s my head and I know what it’s capable of, is that desire that will almost always overwhelm the original desire. No matter how badly I want that space of my own, where books and dog and piano and end of road cohabitate peacefully in a space conducive to creativity and charm, the desire to self-sabotage will lurk behind the door like a bloody awful landshark just waiting with it’s transparent candy-gram ruse. As though there is a part of me that doesn’t believe I deserve the thing I have convinced myself I want. OR WORSE, that I never actually wanted it in the first place.
I did not honestly consider that there would be any resistance whatsoever to the decision I had made because I didn’t and still don’t think it’s a bad one. Honestly, crazy brain blindsided me a little bit this time. It’s throwing things out there like, okay, now what are you going to do? Well, I don’t know exactly yet. But how for-fucking-tuitous that I now live in a beautiful little blue cabin on a henry david tho-freaking-reau inspired lake and can watch the sunlight dance across it while considering the future, revelling in the present and contemplating all the other mysteries of the verses. Or something like that.