Day 3

Chapter 1

I started rearranging my house yesterday…it was a wild hare to be sure. I really don’t know why I started doing it. Well, I take that back. I have been plagued with “stuff” since I left North Carolina. The detritus of a 9 year relationship that faltered badly after my partner decided to join the military. Honestly it was headed south before that, but it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. But I digress.

I moved into a warehouse building that my parents owned that was full of  stuff so it has been an ongoing struggle dealing with the stuff  . So my life revolves around stuff, my stuff, my partner’s stuff, my parent’s stuff, my brother’s stuff, and my business’s stuff. STUFF!

After 2 years of cleaning out, selling off, donating and trashing the stuff, there is now some room to move around my 3500 sq. ft. warehouse flat. It has such potential to be a cool space, but the battle continues.  I’ll admit I get tired, so I just deal with it, walk around it, and ignore it. 

It drives my partner nuts because it makes the place hard to clean, and it appears that there is no rhyme or reason to it. Even though I have made huge leaps since I first moved in.

I guess by now you have noticed my use of pronouns, “I” versus “we” . Yes you’re correct in your assumption if you think that we don’t live together. We don’t, and haven’t for some time. It seems to work for us. 

She comes for a few days or weeks as the case may be, and I go to where she is. We are together as much as we can be. But we each have our own lives, and then our life together. You would think that it would make the separation easier. It doesn’t.

She has volunteered to go wherever the military asks her to go. And she has reduced her life to a 10x10 storage space and a few duffle bags. I however, still have a saddle of “stuff” to deal with. She has left a few thing with me, so I can send things to her that she may need, but even though its very little, its more stuff. I like pretty things and my past homes have been attractive and comfy, but that seems so far off right now, but every time I dig in, I make progress, happy progress but it’s still frustrating as heck.

I spoke to her on the phone, sent pictures via text of what I was up to, and was saying that I wasn’t sure why I just started moving and cleaning. She said it was probably because I was trying to gain some control of what was going on because I was feeling helpless in what was happening to us. I think I agree with that.

The first night she was at her pre-deployment base, she called me in tears. Her luggage has been tampered with on the trip and personal things were taken. Then arriving to a very sparse and baron place that was dirty and unkempt. I couldn’t help her. I couldn’t fix anything or make the pain and anger for the violation go away. I couldn’t comfort her with anything but words, and that was insufficient to me.

I hate hearing the pain in her voice and the fear of what she’s signed up for. I remember that voice, from when she called from basic training. The “what the hell have I done?” voice.  I know that she’s ultimately happy and has excelled in the military, but it still flies in the face of who I am and what I believe in. It’s hard to reconcile that sometimes, especially when it ties my hands. I feel undermined at times, and start questioning my own value and abilities…another symptom of feeling out of control.

So, I clean, re arrange and occupy my brain and body to not think too much about what she has to tolerate and deal with. I can only make my life better, so when she comes home, I’ll be happy too.