thirteen minutes to sort out my life.

My brother’s cell phone alarm woke me along with him this morning, forty minutes before I needed to get up, because he and I are sharing a bedroom. When he goes to bed, the lights have to go out, even if I want to read or write in my journal. When I want the room to myself, he has to knock before accessing his socks and shirts.

Letting him stay with us, the way we stayed with him last winter, seemed like a good idea at the time. Or have I already tried that line?

I love my brother and love spending time with him, but I am losing my mind sharing this apartment with him and my mom. Curled on my mom’s hide-a-bed after my brother had left, the cat watching us in a sleepy lump amongst my mom’s covers, I wept that the one thing that allowed me to endure breaking up with Marcus, live without local friends, or a clue what to do with myself, was the routine my rabbit and I developed in that bedroom.

I’d settle into my big bed, pet the rabbit, read a book or journal. Turn out the light. Hiss at the rabbit for digging a hole into my mattress. Wake up in the morning to Flip hopping back up to talk to me. It wasn’t much, certainly not worth blogging about at the time, but it was restful and centering. Now Flip sleeps on a nearby chair so that he can keep an eye on both myself and my brother.

After my brother left for work, before I woke up my mom by sitting on her bed, I lay in my own bed staring out the window at the windy gray morning. It took me twenty-seven minutes to recognize and (temporarily) set aside my sense that everything absolutely sucks. I glanced at my cell phone. 9:17.

“Thirteen minutes,” I thought, rolling over under my comforter, “to sort my life out.”

If I hadn’t been in such a rotten mood, I would have laughed. I should have laughed. When one or more of us crosses the country annually, driving cats back and forth with abandon, leaving suitcases easily accessible and carrying out entire relationships via cell phones and laptops, there is no time to sort anything out. There is no reason to.

There may be no reason, period.

It’s been a helluva ride. But I’m this close to stepping out of the car. Suckallo may suck, but the past twelve months’ travel has not showed any of us a place we’d actually rather be. Why not pitch our tent here for the night? Maybe I’ll follow Ani’s lead and build my own alternative empire from a city nobody’s ever heard of. Weirder things have happened.

1 Response

  1. Lynnette

    Well, after further consideration, at least I know Samoa is out. Their food is bland, according to one blogger. What would we do without bloggers. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t another city, as you say, that no one has ever heard of. I just know, as the days go by, that being in the same half of a continent as your father is a bad idea. A good idea has got to be around the corner. When we thought we’d move to Nevada years ago we at least learned that was a bad idea. So what else can we try on? Come on, Palmer’s Blog readers, help us!

    Like

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