The buzzer on the dryer startles me and I jump up, eager to change over the wash, only to find I have forgotten to start the washer load. I feel a tug of annoyance at myself. I am not functioning well today. Have been awake since well before 4:00 a.m. and am wired with non-sleep.
It is noon. I have swept the floor, done up the dishes, tidied and rested. Tried to sleep but it only comes in snatches – there is too much on my mind.
We have been home a week and I’m not certain that I have really landed. Ric has jumped back into work – he denies the fact, but will be gone all day. His work is like that – he can ignore it for months and it is just as willing to let him back in when he returns. I haven’t worked in four years.
Still unable to drive, I am stranded here on the edge of life, too beside myself to venture out, too restless to settle at anything other than domestic chores.
Ric wants us to buy another house. He thinks we need to get back in before the market out-prices us. I remind him of how much work a house is, and how in our last house we had to hire help all the time. I like how I have autonomy in our small space.
He says this small space is not good for him unless we are travelling, that he doesn’t move around enough, needs more to do.
As a compromise, we are going to look at manufactured housing – small bungalows set on cement slabs – one floor living in a slightly larger setting. Most of the communities, like this park, are away from the city where family members still live. I would still face isolation.
I curse this brain of mine that cannot cope with driving.
Maybe we’ll find a community with social activities built-in.
“What do you want to do?” my daughter asks me, as if it’s that easy to know after years of catering to husbands, to kids, to employers. “Don’t you have a say?”
Of course I have a say. I always have a say. I just don’t know what I want. A little bigger place would be good, I can imagine.
I thought we’d be travelling for more years before this became an issue. I thought we’d committed to five years or until we couldn’t do it anymore. I hadn’t expected to know so soon where I wanted to be at the end of it all.
It’s likely the lack of sleep making me jittery, my mind unable to settle.
Is this what happens after six months of being away?