My relationship with my apartment is changing, mostly due to an influx of energy from feeling good all the time. I know I rant and rave on my web site, but because I get my anger out here, I’m free the rest of the time to feel fantastic. If you are confused about how this happens, just think of Leslie and The AntiLeslie as two separate people who only need one number in your cell phone. Just like Jackson Pollack, I don’t just pitch my art. I wind up. I get fired up. So it’s not just an essay coming at you, it’s RRRRRAAAGGGGHHHHH! I FEEL X ABOUT X!!!! Then, you meet me in real life, and you wonder where that lady went. She’s been replaced by a Rainbow Brite doll.
In the past, my real underlying emotions were hidden, so I constantly felt bad about myself. I’d separated myself into two distinct personalities; I had one for school and home, and one for being with parishioners. It was the only way I could make it through the day, because I was so shy and introverted. Summer camp was a nightmare unless my mom was there (it was Choir Camp). She’d let me into her cabin to give me a break. I was too afraid to ask strangers.
Working on those kinds of issues has made me a better person; I think I deserve more, so I put more into me. Today, I cleaned my office and baked chocolate chip cookies. Dana is going to freak when she comes home because I’ve hidden her DVDs and VHSs. Notice that she doesn’t use any of them because we have streaming media, but there they are, hanging out and taking up space.
Not anymore. Know that if I do not post tomorrow, come over and make sure I’m okay. 😉
I put all of Dana’s media into her footlocker (that way, they’re easily portable if she decides to get rid of them). If I had enough boxes, I’d do the same with her books. We read our Kindles incessantly, and the number of books we own to the number of books we get out and read is ridiculous. Of course I’m okay with keeping sentimental things, but at the same time, we are ADD and the dust gets ridiculous because we constantly forget that dust is sitting in the books and someone should clean them.
Our apartment needs serious work, and I mean that on the management level, not that the apartment is dirty. I am sure that they want us to move out; we sent them a registered letter of complaint and prayer for relief…. still, no response. Therefore, I think I just want to start doing some of the stuff myself. It’s just too dangerous to step on carpet tacks on a daily basis. If you think the management doesn’t want to fix the water damage in our ceiling, it is nothing compared to the contempt they have for us because we asked them to replace our carpet. It’s become a safety issue, and I think we’re being iced out. They’re “losing money” on us because Dana’s lived in that apartment for over 13 years. The rent hasn’t risen but about $150 since she moved in.
All the units in our complex are being remodeled as people move out, and then the management is charging them quite a bit more because the apartment is so much nicer. How dare we continue to live in a spot where we’re getting a great deal! It’s the only reason we can afford to live in our neighborhood. I live two miles from downtown. There’s nowhere around here that will match what we pay.
So, we’re pretty much here for good… unless moving to Washington really will save us lots of money. We need to run the numbers before we even consider it. Let’s table that discussion.
Back to where I live now.
You only get as much out of a relationship as you put into it. I found that I wasn’t putting enough energy into my living space, so I started. Cleaning is fun again, when it wasn’t for a very long time. I was so wrapped up in my depression that I couldn’t hack it. I stopped taking care of myself, to the point of not bathing. I hadn’t even been good enough to deserve those things.
And that’s how depression works, at least for me. I shame myself into thinking that I don’t deserve family, friends, a clean house, a clean body. Those are luxuries for people who do things, who accomplish things… and here I am, just me. I was born eight weeks early, I have a palsy in my brain, I have lateral isotropia/strabismus, and from the minute I was born, nobody thought I’d do anything. It was doubtful that I’d even walk. As a result, it is a learned behavior in me that constantly says, “I’m too little/not strong enough/can’t take it.” It is a running tape in my head, because I just don’t act like other people act. I don’t get it. I feel the constant struggle of a “day late and a dollar short.” I don’t move in the world the way other people do, and I finally have some acceptance of it. People aren’t sure what to do with me. I got tired of not knowing what to do with me.
I’m sure it evokes some sort of pity in other people, but at the same time, that’s not what I’m trying to get across here.
My mother helped me learn to walk; now I have to learn to fly.
For me, the first step is making my apartment beautiful.