Just an odd jumping off point here…..
Now that the weather is getting mild, I have the windows open in my apartment. I look down on the train station here in Media, Pa. And from very early in the morning til very late at night I can hear the announcements about arrivals and departures. I can’t make out what is being said mind you—it comes across as a monotone, garbled, disembodied voice. Well, this morning it hit me what it reminds me of: the lead singer’s voice in “Pepper” by Butthole Surfers. If you’re not familiar, the song is sort of a spoken word piece: “She was sharin’ Sharon’s outlook on the topic of disease.” The singer is telling a story about a group of young people leading lives of quiet desperation [I guess] somewhere in Texas. The line that sort of stuck in my head was this: “You never know just how you look through other people’s eyes.”
We don’t know how others see us, perceive us. I worry about that way more than I probably should. I mean, why is it important to me that everyone likes me? I don’t like everyone I cross paths with, so why should I waste time and energy worrying about whether folks like me. As long as the people that really matter in my life appreciate what I have to offer, what difference does the rest make? I know I have quite a large circle of acquaintances and friends. And I’m fairly certain that the ones I spend a lot of time with actually enjoy my company, so the rest is insignificant. Right?
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As the time gets closer to my move out day, I find myself growing nostalgic about my apartment—it’s seen me through some very rough times. It has embraced me when there was no one else to do so…..
I was married for 26 years. I went right from my parent’s home to living with my boyfriend at 19—and marrying him shortly after turning 20. I separated from my husband in 2000; a story for another time—but I’ve covered some of it in previous posts], and found this place to move into. I had never lived alone in my life—and here I am at 46 signing a lease and applying for utilities in my name—not his. It was a little scary at first. I had never lived alone—would I be able to do it? How would it be not to have someone to talk to or laugh over a funny show with? It was a BIG adjustment, but I learned to like some aspects of living alone [I can watch what I want on TV when I want for one.]
At that time, I was moving from a 3-story, 4 bedroom house to this 1-bedroom apartment. I had to be ruthless as to what I kept and what I gave away to Goodwill—or tossed altogether. “Kids, I love you—but the macaroni portrait of Lincoln you did in 1st grade is gonna get tossed if you don’t come get it.” Of course, I kept EVERY little thing my grandson had done. I have an autobiography he wrote in 2nd grade—cause they’ve experienced so much by age 7. I have a couple of his drawings….. But the best [it has had a place of honor on my fridge since I moved in here] is the note he wrote me when he was 5: “ Dear Mimi—I hope you feel better. Your are the best Mimi ever. Love…”—and he signed his full name. Like I wouldn’t know who it was from otherwise. I think that is the cutest thing. Some things I simply CANNOT part with……
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A bit of a clarification…
My post of the other day [ the one with the image of Edvard Munch’s The Scream]f had more to do with the stress of packing up/de-thinging, finding a new place that both my mom and I will be comfortable in AND coping with my company’s complete restructuring of the workflow and team structures. Stress and Fibromyalgia do not play well together…. And today was the start of the new model..... First I opened my door to find one of my bras sitting in the hallway [it escaped the basket last night apparently]; then I came out to a flat tire [but I could now join a NASCAR pit crew--I got to the gas station, got air in the tire and made it to work only 5 minutes late]; my first 30 calls were all from new hospitals migrated from other teams, so I had no idea who they were--and one of them yelled at me. But the best part was when I heard a male voice from the top of my cubicle wall asking me how things were going. Thank God I looked up before I answered--it was the president of the company!! Good thing I didn't answer without looking,cause it wouldn't have been pretty. But, I’m a tough old bitch—and I can come here and vent to my wonderful blog peeps.
