don’t know

Had a dream last night that I woke up and Eric and a couple of other people at the place we were staying had gone to breakfast together without me. I was so hurt they hadn’t waited for me or woken me up and asked me to come. IRL this would never happen since Eric always sleeps much later than I do, but the feeling in my dream seems to have bled into my morning. Sadness, anxiety. I haven’t heard from him in five days.

Yesterday it rained for the first time in awhile. Big fat heavy drops that soaked through my shirt when I was drawn outside by the sound of it. It was raining on and off all day, which almost foiled my plans to wash/vacuum out my car, but I went anyway, racing against time as I pushed quarters into the slot, dark billowing clouds gathering overhead. I sprayed on the high power soap and then wiped it down with the foaming brush and then rinsed it all off knowing I only had four minutes to do so, and by the end, my hand was incredibly sore from gripping the sprayer. It shook uncontrollably anytime I tried to grip anything with it for the next few hours.

I finally got serious about cleaning yesterday, vacuuming, doing several loads of laundry, and cleaning out the front room of my house and my two desks (which were atrocious). The front room of my house feels like the heart of this apartment, and even just a cursory tidying up makes me feel so much more grounded and settled. Both my craft desk and my office desk had been taken over by huge stacks of paper piled every which way—bills and reports and magazine pages and ZINES, tons of them. I sorted all my documents into my filing cabinet, which always feels useless and silly but at least gets rid of the clutter, and when I finally saw the bottom of my desk it felt like a triumph. Organized my zines. Wiped down the desks to get rid of the piles of dust. 

It’s really weird to be out of contact with someone you usually talk to every day. In some ways I feel more free. I’ve returned to the self I feel like I am when I’m by myself—lots of zining, lots of cleaning. I’ve been watching documentaries and hanging out with my friends here and there and catching up on zine symposium stuff. I’ve written letters and sent out some zines (Do you want one? Leave your address and I will mail one to you too!) I wonder if part of the reason I have stopped writing is because I am always with someone else. (If that’s true then this of course is my fault, not the fault of the other person.)

Up until today, it has felt good to get a break. I wonder to myself, "is this what it’s like to be single? I could get used to this…" But then today I feel fragile and deeply sad. Where is Eric? Is he OK? Will I hear from him at all before he comes home? Does he have any idea how upsetting this separation is for me? Will he prioritize getting in touch with me when he finally does have reception? I’ve been reading about wildfires and lightning storms in Eastern Oregon, where he’s rafting the river. I tell myself that he is on a river, right? So he can’t get burned? I don’t know. 

Outside everything is green, and tiny pink roses are budding in my window well. The sound of the rain is comforting, and I am getting used to sleeping on my own. I still have to turn on the light when I get up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, though, to check and make sure I am alone. I sleep better when I wake up and it is dawn, and I can see the sunlight poking through the blinds. Only then do I feel I can completely relax.