Freedom – Sometimes It Hurts

Hell, I didn’t know how to title this one yet. I, of course, voted early because I don’t stand in line with the great unwashed when I can avoid it. And I mean that literally – this is farming and cattle country – they don’t have time to change clothes to vote over the lunch hour.

I will not pay a bit of attention to any reports prior to 1am and usually wait until the morning to find out what happened as I slept. I do predict a red wave, as they say, but I am also positive that there will have never been as much tampering as there will be this time. So even if it doesn’t go your way – be patient. I think there will be a lot of investigation going on.

Webs

The day started covered in fog and mist. I was doing pretty well, taking care of breakfast and dogs, and getting a resume sent out. But then he had to play the music…songs about cheating, about stay awhile, and he has no idea how cruel it is to do so. Much less to hum, whistle and sing along to the tunes as his breakfast is being made. Honestly, who has so little sensitivity as to do that? It really baffles me because if the shoe were on the other foot I’d be bending over backward to avoid ANY sort of reminder of infidelity. I would remain in a calm state, never too cheerful in the face of their troubles. Well, I just think I’d be more attuned than that…and I suppose he would say I was being overly sensitive. It was a frequent rebuttal.

The Oak

So I took the trash to the street and made another round of the yard, the damp weather curling my hair. I looked again at my oak tree, the sentinel in the pasture who has seen untold numbers of days and girls trampling the wet grass. “You and I,” I told it in passing. If it all gets too much…we have a mutual agreement. There is a kind of peace in knowing that you have an Option. It isn’t a…an ideal or goal. It is merely there in hibernation. But it hasn’t the same siren call as it did once before. Nor is the situation as dire. That was hopelessness, then. That was the state of All Gone. This is, in comparison, a difficult journey. A step at a time.

The steps can offer stumbles here and there – the hawks on the lines will always bring him to mind. My finger always going to fidget with a ring now gone. (I promised myself I’d get another to replace it, a fine one of  silver with branches and leaves, a twining thing to cling to…) The songs, of course, are very difficult. I move from one station to another, returning at times to the songs that he would not like, the ones that played loud when a different thunder crashed. But never at him, never to wound, never where he can perceive it. It is a solitary “damn you” that doesn’t bring the curse.

And when it gets very hard I do as the movie says – I go one moment more and then I know I can stand anything. I try to think of a new vista, new walls with my own prints on them, a fridge with my own menus filling it. And my movie snobbery will not be impugned. I did this all before and I did it rather well, generally. But I like to take care of men – there is a comfort to it and I don’t mind it. While quite capable of independence it is a cold bed fellow and a silent table mate. Still, I try to summon the idea as if it holds promise instead of dread. What else can one do?

Being free of someone isn’t always being unchained. There are links that trail along, glittering in the ashes, and reminding you every now and then of how it Was. The other evening I was thinking about how I’ve really only had a few long-term relationships. I didn’t bother with dating, really. So I hardly have any way to know what to expect for a future. I have always remembered a caveat given me – never name the well from which you won’t drink. I cannot imagine trusting someone enough again…for someone that takes such things as absolutes – when I trust someone I am loyal to them in a way that is rare in this world – so having it dashed on the rocks twice, now, makes me skittish to consider making the effort again. I won’t say never. Merely that it would have to be an incredible man to make me consider it, again. And there would be other…demands.

No, I suppose I mustn’t try to look that far ahead. When I do it brings a kind of vertigo as if I was on a high ledge. There is so much that I must get done, that no one can do for me. It feels quite impossible when taken in – looked at whole at a glance. So I choose to avoid it, to skate on the surface of this semi-frozen pond, and just hope I can make it to the other side before it cracks. There is that attraction – the halting and freezing in place. The ignoring of duty and obligation and giving in to selfish refusal. I suppose a call from my father last night aided in pushing me onward. So old and still sitting at home, drinking a bit too much wine and wondering what he ought to do with his body at death. Because no one will be there to make the decisions, direct the action. No, he gave in to selfish refusal decades ago, giving up his duty, and the price is just that – the wobbly tongued attempt at disregard for his flesh and bones. No, I need to have someone want to know what to do with me. I’d like someone there to say goodbye, that they’d see me soon. Don’t we all?

I shall tell you this about that – in case no one is there. Put me here. And a small wooden bench if there is room so that there is a place for others to sit and watch. I was so happy there – blame the altitude if you wish but…it is a kind of church. With winds that scour the penitents clean.

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One response to “Freedom – Sometimes It Hurts

  1. Your words, feelings and situation. I walk beside you from afar. I look out my back door at the olive tree we planted to commemorate our anniversary and feeling of peace we felt with our new life in Texas. I will try to stand tall, alone like our tree, bending with the change in weather. Stand tall dear lady!

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