The Single Life

I wander through the still of night,
When solitude is everywhere—
Alone beneath the starry light,
And yet I know that God is there.

Theodore E. Curtis, "Come unto Him"

I've recently spent several days helping a friend—a single mother, a year or two younger than me—as she recovered from surgery. This friend's life is very difficult and hectic, even when she's feeling well, and her two-year-old is definitely an independent spirit. I was glad to help out so she could rest, but I was surprised how hard it was for me and how tired I felt afterward.

In the aftermath, I've caught the flu or something. It hasn't been very bad. Actually . . . I'm almost enjoying it. Weird, huh? But I'm really enjoying how, without a pang of guilt, I can pamper myself as much as I want. As I make myself some soup or put on a movie or mix up a pitcher of orange juice, I think, "Isn't it nice that I don't have to drive a kid anywhere or take care of a toddler who needs care no matter how mama feels? Isn't it nice that I work from home anyway, so I can stay in bed all day like this? Isn't it nice that I don't have to take care of anyone else but ME?" Yes, it is nice. It's exceedingly nice.

Nope, I don't have a husband to bring me soup and orange juice, worriedly caress my fevered brow, or other things I sometimes imagine. But I also don't have a husband who has to leave me for work every day anyway, and I don't have to feel guilt or resentment over a husband who doesn't nurse me the way I hoped to be nursed. I don't have roommates to rush to the store and buy medicine if I need it, but I also don't have roommates who make noise at all hours of the night or germophobically quarantine me to my small area of the apartment. It's a comfort to know that I have family and friends nearby to help me if I need it, but it's also nice to be sick without worrying about spreading germs or being in other people's way.

Like anyone else, I'd love it if someone stopped by to see how I was doing or brought me chicken noodle soup, but I've learned that people (including myself) don't really think about what sick people might like until they're sick themselves, so it doesn't bother me when no one does anything special. I'm glad to have the means and the know-how to do for myself. This is what my time in this rather selfish time of life has taught me: everyone is selfish most of the time. Most of the time, everyone is thinking about themselves, their lives, what they're doing or saying. Knowing that makes me glad to be single, because I have a valid excuse for at least some of that selfishness.

So here I am, in my quiet, peaceful place, resting on the couch among blankets and soft pillows, with a movie playing and dinner and water close at hand. Flu or not, life is good.

Waiting

I don't know how much of my life I spend waiting for things, but it's probably a shockingly significant amount. I've been waiting for this move to finally be over, to finally be settled in my new place, waiting for movement in a relationship, waiting for a bit of free time to dote on my unearthed dollhouse. And I've been waiting for this stuff to happen so I could write about it.

Well, let's put an end to waiting, shall we?

Yes, I found an apartment here in my hometown, not too far from the family home, and right now about 98% of my stuff resides therein. The rest of it is scattered here and there around the old house, for me to retrieve during future visits. It's proving hard to totally leave this place, mostly because I don't really want to. It turns out I love being close to home. I'm loving it more now that I have my own space to retreat to. I love that I don't have to say long goodbyes to my family anymore; I love knowing I can drop by and see them whenever I've a mind to. I wonder why on earth I put it off as long as I did. Why did I linger so long in Utah? What was I waiting for?

Oddly enough, it was when I went back to Utah on vacation last week that I realized just how settled I've become in New Mexico. I realized that I finally do have my own niche here, which is something I'd hoped for. Thus it was that almost as soon as I got to Utah I wanted nothing more than to go back home and live this wonderful life I've found here. I took pleasure from visits with family and friends, but part of me was just waiting to go home again.

Of course, reality tends to intrude at rose-colored-glasses moments like this. I came home and rediscovered that yes, it's a great life, but there are a few unsettled bits at the moment. To love life, I have to appreciate that there are ups and downs to it. The biggest down right now involves waiting. And waiting. Waiting for someone to decide what he wants and make it a priority, or for my feelings to ebb away and follow a new direction. I'm more patient than I used to be, but I still don't like how helpless I feel waiting for something that's out of my hands.

Why wait? Today I'm going to do. I'm going to smile, get some boxes unpacked, and enjoy dinner with my family. I might have to wait on other things, but I don't have to wait to enjoy life.

Contemplating a Lake Activity

My legs
in the lake
are fine, I can take
the shimmering pale,
the wavery line.

Somehow,
above,
when I stand in my suit,
I'm nothing but pale,
out of shape, and hirsute.

Slogging Along

I'm feeling bugged. Latest peeves?

People on Facebook who make their status a daily update of their wedding-day countdown.
People who turn mean and spiteful when other people break up with them.
People who only go to church when it's their turn to teach the lesson or do this or that assignment.
People whose opinion of me matters so much to me that, try as I might, I can't make myself act remotely normal around them.
People who see other people floundering and sit and watch, critiquing, instead of getting up and helping.
People who are perky in the mornings.

I guess another, background, general irritation is the housing situation. I haven't quite hit just the right combination of Motivation to Apartment Hunt + Time in the Day + Availability of Helpers to launch a successful move-out. And if I think about it, I don't actually own a bed. A bed would be important. Wanting to move out and not having done it yet bugs me.

I realize that sometimes I'm just lazy, end of story. That bugs me too.

Update Since This Article Has Been Sitting in Drafts: Might've found a place! More news to come.