It is rainy and cold today, but it is a Tuesday, and I have therapy today for the first time in some weeks. It has not been an energetic, productive, or enlightening morning so far, but I hold out hope. I still have dreams about the Old House, my Mom and Dad, and moving. They are what I consider to be nightmares. Not the screaming-meemy kind of bad dreams, but deeply disturbing all the same.
We are altogether as a family again, and in the Old House, and being forced to move. Nothing is done, nothing packed, and the move is imminent. There is nowhere to go to and all our things must be left behind. But they are, I tell myself over and over, only dreams. The worst is over.
I used to love adventure, and each day was an adventure. At work or play, I loved to greet the day, after we moved to the Old House. My windows looked out over a 100 acre farm, and trees and green. I was free.
Today, I am free in another way. I am brought face to face with my fear of "the world" every morning. But, for the first time in my life, no duty, no one else's life takes precedence over my own. The only schedule I must keep is my own.
And the dog's bladder, of course. It is something my mind cannot grasp. That I may spend the day as I please. And, every once in a while, responsibility calls me. I have a duty to myself, after all.
And so few women around the globe have that privilege, that it is foreign to me.