I am here.  Quiet, contemplative, but here. 

I have been wandering around my blogroll catching up and seeing what everyone is up to but rarely commenting.  It feels like window shopping.

The summer is nearly over, the leaves haven’t started turning yet but the morning temperatures are cool rather than sultry and there are mums and lusciously colored plants everywhere. 

T & J stormed my house and cleaned the kitchen and laundry room for me.  This has been a pretty bad summer for me pain-wise and I haven’t been able to keep up with things around the house.  I was lamenting my frightening living arrangements on the phone with T when he asked if I wanted him take care of it.

Nothing is more mortifying to me than being vulnerable.  To let someone see me at my weakest and assist me is worse than any other type of embarrassment or humiliation that I can conceive of or have already been through. 

I refused to let T into the house.  I didn’t want him to see me as I currently am.  I can let J in, he and I share a different history, a different knowledge of each other.  T hung up on me and called J, arranged the details of their invasion and then had J call me to coordinate telling me to go unlock the door, go to my room and hide so that I didn’t have to see them. 

I was moved beyond words could express that they would do this for me.  Horrified, mortified, humiliated, and grateful to my very core.

I can’t write because things are in such chaos.  I exist but I don’t live. 

I was about to write “I have no joy in my life” but that is not right.  Joy is a quiet thing for me, and I have very deep and profound moments of it on almost a daily basis.  It is just the time in between those moments seems to drag and it is what I think of first when I reach for a description of myself these days.  But that is not who I am, not really.  

I have been sad for so long and there is an odd comfort in that.  It is familiar and cozy.  It encourages me to stay nice and neatly bundled up in it so I don’t venture too far, I don’t risk myself but where it once felt safe it now feels suffocating. 

I find myself waking up, still dreaming, saying over and over “I don’t want to be this person”.  My subconscious mind is rebelling from this cocoon with more efficiency and determination than my conscious mind is.