Home in Michigan now. The biggest unexpected thing I learned, something I never thought about, was that I have too much stuff. When we went down to Florida, we had a set of dishes, a television and a little desk. My dad had left us a sofa and a kitchen set. Also a bottle of wine and two coffee cups. That was all we had.
We knew we needed stuff, so we hit Costco for silverware and lamps. Then we bought a bedroom set and were dismayed to learn it wouldn’t come for two weeks. We had also brought down an inflatable mattress, which wasn’t too bad for a week, but by week two, we were ready for a real mattress. And pillows.
I got the basic kitchen stuff and added to it as needed. I’d clipped an article about “the only cleaning apparatus you’ll ever need” and I bought those. (Microfiber cloths, steamer mop for ceramic tiles, and vacuum for carpets). We painted the important rooms. Got cable. I bought a book cabinet and then books to fill it:) Except for art and picture frames, we were done.
And for three months, I was fine. I had everything I needed. Then I came home and was overwhelmed when I opened a cabinet or closet. So much food! Bowls! Glassware! Clothing! The basement could be another little house for someone; it’s full of stuff we do not need and will never use. I am going to be paring down significantly, but there’s a problem named Al.
Al had a slight tendency to hoard things. To “sell” someday. Or to “fix” or because it’s “cool” and a “classic.” The basement and his loft office here are Al’s territory. I cannot get rid of anything in those rooms. But I can go through my kitchen and my closet. And I know now living with less is somehow more.
7 weeks and 5 days. That’s how long we’d been apart. I don’t know what I was expecting when Al arrived, except to feel relief and happiness. That’s how I felt, but all too fleetingly. He came in at night, and we had our first argument a few hours later. It had to do with me wanting to stay in Florida longer next year. He said something rude and I snapped back and we went to bed without saying sorry. First night!
Sometimes I get in trouble. I never mean to, because I dislike conflict. So I try to get along with people, but I am a liberal, so if someone tells a racist joke or utters a homophobic remark, I might say something. Sometimes I just walk away, other times I’ll say, “you might not know you’re telling a racist joke” or “I support the LTBGQ community.” I don’t hide my ethics or values, and I very much dislike when bullies gang up on good people.
Despite the fact that periodically I had to stoop to their level when my weight got out of control and my doctor started talking about diabetes, I used to think people who continuously made the care and feeding and exercising of their bodies top priority were missing something. I pitied them because I had an idea of their sad motives: vanity and fear of death.
While becoming a little annoyed by Julia Cameron’s It’s Never Too Late to Begin Again, I have to admit the course has brought big changes and been a good companion on what has been an amazing and mostly solo journey. Julia’s been nagging me to take a walk, but I’ve been too busy dancing. And very week there’s a new artist date to plan; these dates are to be taken alone so nothing I do with friends counts.
I don’t have to be here. I can stay with him in Michigan and we could rent this place out for the season. But I have a choice and I know I don’t want to live through another Michigan winter ever again. This has stirred up a bunch of uncomfortable feelings. I feel selfish. I feel tricked. I never planned to have a long distance marriage, even for a season, so I’m attempting to overturn an image, burnished over a lifetime, of what I thought a good marriage should look like.
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