As I write this, snow falls gently outside my upstairs bedroom window; I have to pause to admire the way it illuminates my white walls. No more pink for me. I thought I would miss it and hate returning to bland white, but find I rather like it.
It’s been a tough transition into my new home. Until a few hours ago I had two TV channels to choose from. Last night I watched a show where everyone had green-striped faces. Rather distracting! And that was with an antennae. Amazing how spoiled we get without realizing it, until we have to do without.
The quiet here is unsettling. Though I’m gradually adjusting and beginning to find it peaceful, I still miss my granddaughter’s knock on my bedroom door, asking to come in and watch cartoons with me. And the constant stream of people (always the same handful, but still . . . ) coming and going. Without a phone I’ve had way too much time to contemplate my thoughts. Well. I have come to at least one conclusion worth mentioning. I’ve mentioned it in passing in an earlier post, but I’ve gained more clarity. What I’ve come to acknowledge during the past 10 or so days is that I’m still very much a pleasure anorexic.
For instance, my new bedroom is just about perfect, probably the best one I’ve ever had. Everything fits with plenty of room to spare. I can walk around my bed, as no longer is one side of it jammed against a wall. The walk from my bed to the door seems long, compared to the few steps it used to take me. My desk is no longer six inches from my face when I sleep. Instead of the dinky closet so jammed pack with stuff that I could never find anything, I have a walk in closet. So you see, it seems I’ve come up in the world. This home is much plusher than the one I left. Ah, and there we have it—the source of my unsettling thoughts.
I’m not comfortable with all this comfort. I knew this would likely be a problem for me, I just thought I could distract myself from it. But with no TV, phone, or Internet that’s been a bit difficult.
I don’t trust luxury. Is that so bad? Is it so awful to be a pleasure anorexic? Tonight I tried to buy myself a new computer and couldn’t bring myself to do so, even though this one is giving me grief and will likely break down before long. I came up with all kinds of excuses not to buy. When my son urged me to spend money on myself for a change, I became very uncomfortable.
My mother sold her soul for more money than she’d ever had before. It wasn’t riches, but I bet it seemed like it when compared to the poverty of her past. Trouble is, she tried selling my soul as well. That she succeeded in only selling (bartering?) my body is no thanks to her, but to my stubborn determination to hang on to a bit, however tiny, of my authentic self.
Suddenly I don’t want to go into this in any more depth tonight. I’d rather end this, for now, by saying how much I missed everyone and how good it is to be blogging again! If you’ve sent e-mail in my absence, I promise to get back to you in the next couple of days. I’ve got lots of reading to catch up on as I visit my favorite blogs and sites. Oh, it really is great to be back!