I made yesterday harder for me than I needed to.

First, I’ve been really good about skipping my Prozac for the past couple of days.   The last time I did that was a couple of years ago when I had a not-so-friendly panic attack.   I felt shamed because of the distress that I underwent and started taking them again after a couple of days.

I’ve kind of forgotten/not forgotten this time.   It’s been a couple of years.   I guess I wanted to see if I’ve gotten better… and maybe.

This time, it wasn’t a panic attack, but rather an overwhelming feeling of loss, frustration, and loneliness.

And what, exactly, brought on these oddball feelings?
A trip to Home Depot.

You see, I’m a wander at heart.  I like to go places and do things under my own steam.  I like to go exploring and I tend not to give a lot of thought to personal safety… as my mom has expressed to me many, many, many times.  This is my air side.

But, equally, I have an undeniable urge to live in a house that’s…  it doesn’t have to be perfect.   It doesn’t have to be Martha Stewart clean and decorated.  It just has to be… solid.   Well-kept.   Welcoming.   Lived in, but not too lived in.  Not trashy, used, or run down.    This is my earth side.

During my life, I tend to slide between the two, but stay in the middle as well.    My psychologist feels that my idea of being in moderation is not being in moderation.   Which, I actually agree with her.

When I’m in Indiana, the earth side tends to rule.  That’s my home soil.   There’s not a whole lot around there I haven’t seen.   I can make things grow there.  Although, when I get the itch to travel, I want to travel and generally can’t, I can pretend I can by going to Indianapolis or Louisville.  Places I’ve been a million times before, just not that often.

In Florida, despite living here for 15 plus years, I feel like I’m traveling — which is really odd since I’ve been here for 15 years.   The only things that majorly changes are the stores in the mall.    In a way, there’s not really a whole lot new here for me in this area, but I feel that I need to lay down roots.  I need an anchor.

Jason provides me to a degree. I think he’s passionate about select things, but he’s also kind of flighty and unsure.   He’s kind of like a whelp who knows he’s a dragon but isn’t sure what that means.   I love him for it.   It kind of plays into the whole aging Peter Pan thing he’s got going on, but sometimes his fire isn’t the best thing to lean on.

Well, yes and no.  It all goes back to my anorexia years.  I needed someone strong during those years and he was… sort of… Maybe I just needed more help back then what he could provide.

Regardless, I find myself kind of apprehensive about leaning on him.
Kind of shy, I guess, which is really really strange because Jason and I are in a relationship that’s probably approaching the twenty-year mark.

Anyway… .back on point…  the Florida house is definitely well lived in.  Maybe a little to lived in.  The kitchen cabinets, which are original and some 60 years old are rotting.  … seriously rotting which was hastened by the kitchen sink’s copper pipes leaking for several months before being replaced.  The roof has an occasional leak and I’m afraid my little clay house has cracks that I have watched become worse over time.  The carpet and kitchen floor needs to be replaced.    Truthfully, I’m not fully sure what’s keeping the carpet from curling up.  For some reason, it bothers me that I can’t open the garage door.

This house is kind of like my anchor.    I want to take care of it, but I can’t.

Sure, I know you’re thinking ‘can’t or won’t.’
Well, my cyborg implants don’t exactly favor painting or flooring.  The only time I’ve ever actually painted a house was when I was 7 or something.   Afterward, up north, we use vinyl siding!  No paint required like ever.

So… the best I feel that I can do is clean…. which is exactly what I did while I was growing up.    I’d clean the rentals when someone moved or, more likely, took off in the middle of the night because they didn’t pay their rent.

I’d wade into these absolutely nasty houses with sticky floors… if you could see the floor… spoiled refrigerators…  roaches and mice running freely…  the smell of rotten meat… holes in the wall.   Doors taken off their hinges…  Don’t get me started on the fleas.    There’s nothing quite a nasty and unique as walking into a house and feel multiple fleas attach to my skin.

Honestly, after that experience and so many years, not a whole lot phases me when it comes to walking into a house.  I actually see it as an opportunity for improvement and, if given my way, it would be sparkle clean within a week if I had the right supplies.    No house….. ever…. should be that nasty.    That’s not a home.  Well, at least of what I think as a home.

No matter how rich or how poor, there’s no need for that level of nasty.

Anyway…  I swore I’d never allow my house to get to be in that state.   For the most part, it’s not.   No roaches.   The cat occasionally spawns fleas, but we deal with that.     But, I want more cause I’m greedy and never satisfied with what I physically have… in some cases.

So, yesterday, when checking out prices of kitchen cabinets, carpet, wood flooring… I just more than kind of became depressed.  Which, I know I shouldn’t have.   Jason and I have fought fiercely to protect this house.  Neither one of us gave up despite lots of people (his family and my psychologists) urging us to sell.   I should be satisfied with where I am.  I’ve got more than most.

This little house in this little neighborhood with the little postage stamp yard is perfect for two.

I just need not go into Home Depot and look at non-rotting cabinets.

This weekend, I’m dealing with his family events on Saturday and Sunday.

I really need to take my meds.   Yep. Yep. Yep.

One day, I won’t have to take Prozac, right?