I feel a bit of the “in betweens”….
Finally, the house is cleaned out. The apartment in Hollywood swept, bleached, Windexed and locked. This is actually the cleanest I’ve left a place upon moving. Which feels pretty good. I can’t help but feel… in between…. which is exactly what I am, and I suppose, a totally natural thing for me to feel.
My last day in the apartment was Friday and I spent the afternoon scrubbing the bathroom floor, sweeping all the left over kitty fur into my dustbin and then meticulously cleaning the wood floors. Beautiful wood floors I forgot I’d been walking upon until the room was empty. The room so bright and airy without any of my clutter. The only remaining piece of furniture was 1/3 of my three piece sectional couch, a piece that my cat had pissed on at some point and I, in my cigarette sense dulled frenzy, had been unable to smell (gross I know). I called Duncan to see if he’d help me lug it outside to the pavement where all unwanted furniture in Hollywood goes to die.
We took it out the second level exit, one floor above the street, shouted “LOOK OUT DOWN BELOW” and threw the couch to the pavement. The wood framing made a cracking sound, but the couch stayed intact, Duncan returned to the apartment to grab the giant cushion and threw that down as well. I went down the the sidewalk to organize and say goodbye to this little part of my life that needed letting go, then back up for the last grab of cleaning products and canvases. By the time I hopped into Deezy’s car-which he leant me while he took a trip to Philli- the couch was gone. Almost as if it had never been there. Hopefully, like my bike, someone will give it a good home. And get out the smell of cat piss.
I moved into Mr. Mans home officially. It is officially our home, he said our bed last night, and he’s been so compassionate and understanding when it comes to making space for my life within the confines of his own. He’s emptied out drawers, folded clothes which used to hang so that I may use the closet, and encouraged me to start digging into the “career” thing again. Career. Last night he mentioned finding a manager or an agent, and I dismissively grumbled at him, said “I love you I love you I love you” while staring at the ceiling and folding shirts. Sensing my emotional unavailability before I did, he got in the shower to wash off our day of fun in the sun. Frustrated with myself, I sat trying to figure out why the snippity tone, why am I being dismissive about him trying to help me? It can’t all be pms…
First there’s the “returning of the keys.” this is the first time in years that I haven’t had my own home to run and hide away from life in. Years ago, when I lived with a boyfriend, I took over his apartment, buying up things to make it feel like my place, aggressively moving my life into his own with no consideration for any feelings of displacement I may cause. This time, I’m incredibly aware, and regardless of how much he wants me to feel at home, I hesitate in asking him to rearrange his life so that I’m comfortable for the short month and a half I’ll be here. We talked about it last night, he understood where I was coming from, said he’d feel equally uncomfortable if he’d moved into my place. He even offered to move his couch into my storage unit so we could move the 2/3 unpissed part of my couch in here. As I said, he’s very sweet.
And then I haven’t been writing. In fact, the last time I wrote was about my stolen bike, (and that poster was not my creation I hate to say…someone sent me a picture on twitter…), and even though I had consciously decided to hold back on writing until I had settled my things into our westside casa, until the storage unit was packed to the brim and I could give my focus to words on the page, it feels like an old friend has been missing. Like a part of me had been put on hold. So even though it feels good to be back writing, and having and making the time required to write, I can’t seem to shake this sense of emotional purgatory from my back…. this, “I’m writing for my blog but researching for my memoir and maybe it’s time to stop procrastinating and really sit down and get to work” feeling. So that is what I’ll do. Really sit down and get to work.
Sometimes the best action is whatever is right in front of me, and right now, all I see is a blank page.
So it’s time to work, because I feel like maybe work will make me feel here, and less “in between”.