The truth of the moment

I’ve reached the State of Equilibrium. It borders on the State of Hysterical Inertia – a territory with a thousand highways criss-crossing flat, changeless land only to arrive back where they began. It is always exactly 5:00 p.m. in Hysterical Inertia – neither day nor proper night. You start having impulses to get out of the car and dye your hair blue-black, or shave it off, or move your bed into the bathroom. Anything to get off those roads. I imagine it’s like Alberta, without borders or mountains.

I’m not sure what’s beyond the metaphorical gazebo I’m sitting in now. The thing about Equilibrium is that it doesn’t particularly matter what’s out there. I’m counting crows and seagulls. A three crow morning today, matter of fact. And that’s about the only fact worth knowing. I’m pretty much happy with breathing as my primary activity.

You do have time to think here, though. And I realized today (with no sense of alarm or disappointment) that when people (okay, male people) hail you on an internet site, it is merely a reflexive action - a man passing by rotates his cranial unit and seeing apparatus in your direction. Rather like a nervous tick. A flicker that sputters out in the time it takes to send an automated compliment. I’ve stopped answering the flickers.

In November, I decided that a period of celibacy was in order. I cut the last thread with my used-to-be, who took it in a spirit of bad grace, foul temper and threw in a couple cutting remarks. No one else was in view, so it was pretty much a done deal. And I was happy with the decision for a week.

The fretting began soon afterwards. I was celibate for over seven years once. By the end, it was neither a happy nor a healthy experience. I began to dwell on that. Began to ponder years, possibly all the rest of them (because I-am-no-spring-chicken, as they say) alone. Alone except for the cliché of a cat. Woman and cat. How long, I wondered, until I was dressing the cat or making little hats for him and then taking pictures. Ohmygod posting them. Here.

I moved from Fretting to Hysterical Inertia over a period of weeks.

And here’s the thing – I have no idea how I got to Equilibrium. One minute I was considering packing a duffel bag and running for my life – to anywhere else. And the next, I was in the gazebo not even remotely considering haute couture for the cat.

And feeling like my life was…pretty much okay. Maybe it was the hours of making mandalas – or just plain old divine intervention. At any rate. I’m manless. The cat is hatless. And there was just one crow on the way home. No seagulls.

It seemed a good idea at the time.

If you look down to the floor (not to close, I didn't vacuum) you'll see a wooden wedge which has slipped out from under the bookcases. This is an oldish building and the wedge was intended to make up for an uneven floor that tilts the bookcases forward in a precarious sort of way.

I washed the curtains this weekend, and because you can't actually get into the corner on the left without dismantling the room, I've worked out a system whereby I thread them onto the curtain rod, stand on a chair by the balcony door and then fling the curtained rod in the direction of the hook on the far left. Mostly this works. All I have to do then is move the rickety kitchen chair to the left corner, lean over about three feet while stretching to the ceiling & make sure the rod in actually in it's hook.

But I noticed after (carefully) limping off the chair that the left side curtains looked wrong. Oh joy, the middle panel had tabs hanging limply off the rod. I'd sort of forgotten about the tilt, so I cleared the plants and flowers, the bowls of stones and (carefully) climbed up to stand on the top of the bookcase. It was at this point that I had a religious experience. The bookcase began to sway a little and I began to pray, fervently as I threaded curtain tabs and wobbled on my bad ankle. "Oh Lord, just don't let the bookcase break or fall over and I will never ever do this again, Amen."

Evidently there is a God.

I went back to beading, because the worst that can happen with that is a foul temper and finger pricks.

Later, the Scorpio phoned. He called because a lady was hit by a car at a crosswalk near my house and, he said, he wanted to make sure it wasn't me. I was so touched by his concern that I made extravagant promises of a sexual nature, only to realize later that while he is worried about my well-being, he also has been calling me Gerald Ford (Google it, those under 40) lately and is mightily entertained by my propensity towards falling off my own shoes.

I didn't say anything about the curtains, just in case.