home is where the head is

Yes, I know. It’s supposed to be where the heart is. But not for me. It’s where I can engage my head and the spirits who visit there.
Last night, the sky above my new digs was filled with all of the stars that could squeeze in between the towering trees and Momma Mountain. I call her Momma Mountain because she is strong and stable and I can see her welcoming face for miles before I reach the safety of her shadow.
In the center of my starry, starry night, the air reeled with the calls of frogs and cicadas and all of those other rowdy night creatures that are invisible except to the ear.
I was dizzy with delight. At least for that moment. That one quiet moment when I went out to my car to close the sunroof.
My old email address seems to be working, even though I am no longer connected to the net the way I used to be. We’ll see how long that lasts, but meanwhile, at least I can decompress from my day here where my head is.
she follows you around, asking questions about everything you touch, everything you do. she doesn’t read, watch the news, have any interests. there’s nothing to talk about. you yell at her. tell her to shut up and leave you alone. your sibling is usually good with her — often better than you are. your temper has quickened; your patience smothered. you and your sibling live in different realities; the clashing is loud and full of f**ks inserted into every sentence. this upsets her. but we two blow it off and keep on keeping on. sometimes we even laugh, the three of us — although usually it’s not for any reason that she understands.
Most of my plants have died. I thought that leaving them outside for a few days might perk them up after the long car ride. Did you know that plants get sunburned? Only they get paler instead of darker. All except my ugly cactus, which, despite an extremely traumatic and dismemebering ride, seems to be holding its own, still outside in the sun.
I think that I will be unpacking for the next year. I have to get rid of more stuff. Too much stuff. Too much stuff, in all of the meanings of that word.
Today I finally understood why medical practitioners in nursing homes give their patients meds to keep them as calm as possible. Otherwise they would need two caregivers for every patient. And even those two would burn out after a few months of coping with all of those paranoid accusations, insatiable needinesses, constant complainings.
Now I understand why I should have used my head and made the choice not to care.
It’s not fair. It’s just not fair.
I ditto what my ex-spouse tells our offspring. When I get like that, just put me in a trash bag and set me out by the curb.
Or, maybe it would be kinder and just as effective to put me outside in a blizzard and just let me drift off (pun intended).
It’s bedtime. I’m off to join Harry and Hermione and the half-blood prince.

5 thoughts on “home is where the head is

  1. Good to see you back on line. We all have some thing that we use to be able to get thru the messes of life. Yours seems to be blogging and reading. Not only do you know them but you use them frequently. Such a smart old crone!
    White light around you.
    See you next week

  2. Poor baby. I wish there was something I could tell you that would make it better. Maybe it helps a little that you know I care about you.
    Is there NOTHING that might interest Mom? Comic books, travel shows on television, sex torture toys? Oh well, just a thought.

  3. Hang in there, Elaine. Nice to see you back on the blog 😉
    Your mother sounds very familiar (my mother died over 5 years ago), and there really isn’t anything you can do, short of someone developing the right psychopharmaceuticals to alter the brain chemistry. LSD, maybe? (Just kidding…) Set limits as far as possible.

  4. I thank you all for not letting me get too lost in this primal chaos into which I seem to have put myself. I thank you for your thoughts, your words, your humor. You help me make it through each day.

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