The Trouble With Living Arrangements Part Two

orange digital image with text "hearts mend but it's really hard to pick a broken body back up." with tag "xokat" referencing Kat Harrison, creator of the image.
Image courtesy Kat Harrison

It’s funny, in the midst of starting the new year and formulating goals and checkpoints for what comes next, life happens, and it all goes astray.

Following up to something I said in my previous post – The Trouble With Living Arrangements – although my parents are not the WHO I ideally want to live with, I’m very fortunate that as my plans for roommates this Spring fell apart, the opportunity to live (sort of) with my parents when my lease ends has not gone away. As quickly as I wrote that first blog, the entire thing was rather obsolete.

What comes next is painstakingly obvious.

The second I got the text from Torie that plans had changed, nothing in my subconscious could formulate an argument keeping me in the warmth of South Carolina. Every spec of stardust within me knew that the only viable option for me and my health would be to move back to Wisconsin.

Despite my intuition, I knew I needed someone else to confirm that I wasn’t really just convincing myself to run off and start anew because something out of my control had changed. To which I reached out to my friend Kat, someone I knew wouldn’t be biased in the situation and could give advice based on understanding chronic illness and the support we need as the illness ebbs and flows.

After affirming the decision to move back to Wisconsin with my parents, she left me with one extremely important phrase: “Hearts mend but it’s really hard to pick a broken body back up.”

That really speaks to this entire decade, all that I’ve learned, and all that is to come.

At the end of the day, its just another move. Another decision made with both my health and my finances in mind.

And of course, my heart hurts. It’s hard to quickly adjust plans and hopes for the future. To go through my Wayfair wishlist and take out the items that were in my cart for my new space, because now I won’t really be downsizing and my dreamed up boho-themed daybed velvet plush everywhere bedroom design isn’t needed. To know that I still have months left with my best friend, but that they’ll be months preparing for a goodbye instead hurts. But hearts will mend.

It helped that a good friend’s reaction was that when I do get to a better spot, there’s nothing to stop me from coming back and reestablishing myself. Because he’s right, sacrificing good weather, close proximity to friends, and the beach is a small price to pay compared to sacrificing more of my health and finances to stay where I’m at.

It’s a rather confusing time for me right now. I mean, I knew I was moving but maybe a few miles… now I’m trying to formulate the most optimal way to get across the country with car full of plants – wondering about the little details like how long should I plan to drive each day, do I need someone to ride with me in case I can’t drive, will I have to bring my plants into the hotel every night so they don’t get uncomfy in the car, do I even bring all of the plants?

Of course my head is also full of the possibilities for my new home. If it’s a separate mother in law suite how can I make it my own? If it’s a heated garage the possibilities are endless for how it can be converted to an apartment. To which we can all vividly imagine my dad’s eyes rolling back into his head wondering how on earth I can already be thinking that far ahead.

But how much of it will I actually be able to do when it comes down to it? To actually moving. To making any changes to whatever space I wind up in.

Last month proved to me that I need to completely let go of the notion of trying to work on any consistent capacity. I averaged roughly 2.75 hours a day of “productive time” with every other day all productive time being dedicated to food – cooking, meal planning, grocery shopping. Leaving a whopping 20 hours where I did anything that could transfer over to a “work” related skill – for example time spent writing, painting, or researching information. 20 hours a month, even at a decent paying wage, doesn’t add up to a whole lot of anything.

I also still have no idea what the fate of my poor gallbladder is. After tests in December not showing any evidence pointing to gallstones, my doctor wasn’t ready to dismiss my gallbladder as a healthy organ because of how much pain I’m in. Next week I have another test that will monitor the function of the organ in case it just isn’t working the way it should be.

So I return to the idea that it’s really hard to pick up a broken body.

I can’t and I won’t push for this currently unrealistic goal of having income. My body is already broken, and I’m having a really awful time trying to pick it back up, but I’m getting there.

I’ve gone from having to give up everything, to being able to live in my own space, cook my own food, acquire my own groceries, and keep my space clean. I’ve been able to improve my writing, to not only start painting, but to sell a decent bit of artwork to friends, family, and people I’ve never met. Most importantly, I’ve gotten so much better at taking pictures of the moon.

I’m in the process of picking my body back up.

It’s going to be a really long process.

A.


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