Member-only story
Why Am I Finding It Difficult to Articulate My Thoughts
When I put fingers to the keyboard, I stall
Am I pretending I’m okay now — kidding myself that I’m over the grief?
I guess it’s the switching from we to me has created this dilemma. I’m not sure who I am or how to get out of this jam, surviving from one pension check to the next; never knowing when I can escape this trap of poverty.
Yes, I’m announcing it for all to hear. I can’t bear to read stories where people can socialize, travel, jump into their car to visit friends or meet for lunch, or join a book club, or go to the library.
I live miles away up a dirt track that demands an SUV with higher ground clearance. The road surface is so bad an ordinary car could end up with a battered oil sump.
I’m stuck at home, a prisoner of circumstance; dependent on the goodwill of the old acquaintance of my late husband for a roof over my head — I can’t even afford to pay rent. On top of that, the man’s a narcissist and thrives on negativity.
For instance, I put more than enough petrol in his car for my weekly shopping — the only time I ever get away from this ramshackle cottage. Yet he accuses me behind my back of being a taker.
I hate being obliged to play psycho mind games to stay in his good books, or I could be out on the street. He and his other tenant who lives in the bachelor flat attached to my cottage do nothing all day except booze and talk sh-t.
I can’t meditate early in the morning as the tenant plays his radio loud when he wakes up (the soundproofing sucks) and only goes down to the main house around 0930. While the noise is on, I do domestic stuff like making my bed, washing the dishes, doing laundry, as there’s no way I can practice my yoga (yes, I’ve started again), then chill into my meditation.
It’s annoying. And there’s nothing I can do about it.
The other day, I sat in the warm winter sun on the veranda to meditate. Five minutes in, and the gardener goes up to his cabin for his lunch break, and HIS radio is blaring.
Oh, for some peace; for freedom to come and go when I want and not feel this is a life sentence.
