12 August 2012
The second week of August
So many things at once. So little time. Moving always seems to be like this-- I’m never as fast getting everything packed as I think I should be, so I get anxious about it. Then I end up two days before I have to move wondering what the hell I’m going to do.
(Actually, at this very moment I’m listening to Journey and typing.)
I have much of my stuff packed. My apartment is disorganized, and there is a lot that needs to be boxed up or thrown away. Moving time has been worse. When I moved into my current apartment, I knew I’d only be here until August, so I didn’t unpack everything. I also have not added much to my vast holdings of stuff. The disorganization makes it seem worse than it probably is, and the lack of apartment in my apartment compresses everything into piles. Time is also draining away, and so the piles I am planning to keep are getting thrown into boxes. It’s in a box, the box is taped shut, it’s packed.
Dirty dishes included. I can wash the damn things when I unpack.
I should be looking for an apartment right now, but I’m not. I’m afraid to have to discuss the circumstances that are leading to me saying “well, my current landlord won’t be singing about me when you call for a reference”. I am trying to convince myself that I should just be honest, that I’ve had a bad stretch recently and I’m recovering. My mind plays tricks, tells me no one will look past that and I’ll end up homeless. There is one listing I really need to check-- it’s farther away from campus, but it’s part of a house owned by a retired engineering professor (who I’m certain would have no problem with me being quiet and sober most of the time). Must. Call. On. That. One.
Yesterday was terrible, by the way. The blacktop-the-street crew arrived outside my window at 0530. I honestly believe that none of the trucks and heavy equipment have forward gears, as the beeping from backup alarms has been constant all summer. Yesterday it was worse than normal. I was coping, for a little while. Then a crew arrived to “remodel” the apartment next to mine. I have “remodel” in quotes because it was not the Ask This Old House kind of remodel, where people talk in normal tones and are careful as they work. This was the “let’s not unscrew that counter top, let’s hit it with sledgehammers until it breaks off the wall” method, which is anything but quiet. Then let’s “throw the stuff out the window instead of carry it down the stairs”.
Quick shower, get dressed, laptop in pack, got my pills for later, SEE YA.
Thankfully, the computer sciences building is generally quiet. Even more so on a Friday afternoon in summer. There is one corner chair on the ground floor that’s protected from behind by brick and cement walls, a door to the right, and hallway to the left. The floor is also newly carpeted. One of the safest places to sit that I know.
Today I woke up and the water was turned off. WTF? No notices that it was being worked on, so who knows. Of course, it came on fifteen minutes before work-- so no shower. Dammit, I’m trying to take better care of myself. Turning on the faucet only to hear remote gurgling from the bowels of the city’s water system is not my kind of assistance.
Not much packing was done today. Instead, I pulled out a book-- an old one, actually, that’s held together with lots of tape. I’ve mentioned it before: Reinventing Your Life by Jeffrey E. Young, Ph.D., and Janet S. Klosko, Ph.D. That was the book, and the plan, that I used during my first therapy group after I changed cities. I haven’t referred to it much lately, but I have been thinking about dating and relationships. Not much happiness there, but RYL has a lot of useful information that I’ve highlighted, underlined, and annotated. End result, I’ve realized that I need to step back a few paces and work on getting myself healthy-- recent relationships (past year or so) have not turned out well. I have also realized that I have to work on my relationships with other people if I want a support network to support my Wellness Recovery Action Plan (WRAP)
I have a rule: never, ever get rid of a book that has been useful.
Another rule: you can’t get there from here. Every step in therapy builds on all of the past steps.
Tonight of course, I’ll be up all night trying to finish packing up my stuff-- and trying to push away images, sounds, smells, and emotions that have been there every early August since 1990.
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