revisiting the roommate. in a dream. {shiver}

I’m in a house with a long hallway.

It’s the house of Judy, the abusive roommate I just moved away from, literally, only, typical of dreams, it looks nothing like her actual house.

I’m walking down the hallway. There’s one vacant bedroom to my right.

I’m surprised she doesn’t rent it out, knowing the financial benefit. It’s large and offers privacy and distance from the other three bedrooms concentrated at the end of the hallway.

I arrive at the end of the hallway where the bedrooms are. Judy is momentarily away from the house, though her presence is still very, very prevalent. I feel relief. Pronounced relief. Some space and gladness she’s away. It brings quietude — as well as a sense of safety from her aggression and attacks.

When I awaken from this dream, I feel I’ve been in Judy’s house rather than mine (solo in my studio!). Clearly still processing the trauma of what transpired there. The aggression and stultifying oppression and anger and loudness and control, control, control that reached an apex with assault and battery. That’s all I can say.


sssshhhh. in the hush of the night go I …

Wow! wow! and wow!

And wow again! Because it’s a 4-wows day!

It’s happening. It’s really happening! I’m a heartbeat — or four — from moving! I found, in a week’s time after the assault by my roommate, a new place to live! Plus some days for the paperwork, checking references & background and other required processing.

So call it two weeks and we’re good!

Not just a place to live did I find but a space I’ve been wanting and needing for a long time. Years. A small studio in a 1928 original boarding house that’s been divvied-up into odd-shaped apartments.

This is my re-entry into living alone since 2011, when I escaped Washington state/ Tacoma to save my life, literally.

The years since with roommates — don’t even wanna count the number! — and horror stories in varying degrees. I’m too happy to dampen the mood with recounting ’em even in brief so will mention only the “highlights.”

*There was the crazy mother-daughter team in Denver where the old woman cornered me in my room and threatened to call the police on some shit that in her self-delusional mind I’d done. “I know the police officer personally,” she threatened. She finally left my room and from then on my only time there was to sleep.

Otherwise I was spent ALL DAY every day hanging in cafes and killing time until I moved into a place that was little better it turned out!

* There was the woman, also dangerously unbalanced, I discovered, who changed the locks on me. In a blizzard. In Denver. The night before I was to start a new job. Leaving me homeless. In a blizzard. Or did I mention that?

Still pains me terribly to talk about it or remember it. It’s on the record, however, the crazed unstable woman who changed the locks in a blizzard and left me homeless the day before I started a new job. Then there was …

* … the woman roommate who stalked me. In the house. She was a liar and scary-controlling to boot. In the middle of the night while the other two roommates slept, she’d go through the shared areas of the house and put everything back into Home and Gardens picture-perfect position. If the bottle of dish soap was opened or slightly ajar, she’d fix it in the middle of the night. In the morning, you’d find the lid closed and the bottle facing picture-perfect straight. It was as if insane invisible gnomes lived there and rearranged things during the darkest of night.

Once she dumped out my pot of coffee, then with a straight convincing face told the main roommate / house owner that she hadn’t done it. And he believed her!

Never mind her CHEAP rose perfume she slathered on. So hideous that it triggered a severe respiratory/asthmatic attack and sent me puking in the toilet. I had to ask her to stop wearing it. Made no difference. Her scent was on EVERYTHING she owned and permeated the house.

I’ve always wondered what happened to those two and whether Christopher ever woke up to the dangerous woman that she is.

* The current roommate, a raging lunatic, who assaulted me in the living room. Unlike cases in Colorado, this time I filed a police report. It was / is the right thing to do and may help my cause later if it comes to that.

What do all these traumas across Denver metro and Arizona have in common?

Women. They assaulting ones, the crazed ones, the psychotic, the truly unstable and dangerous and dangerously unpredictable ones: all women. Enough said.


All the more glorious my impending move!! Tomorrow the lease. Then a furtive move under cover in the night when she sleeps to maintain my safety and prevent inflaming the roommate who knows not that I’m moving.

State law permits an immediate termination of the lease without penalties or $ obligations beyond those accrued to date of departure in cases of domestic abuse. Hers is assault and battery, which is prosecutable in civil court.

Since I’m not litigious — and hence hugely modern-day un-American!! person, I’m forgoing that option in favor of breaking all connections with the house and her. Forgoing that option in favor of moving forward. Forgoing that option in favor of inner peace.

Allllllmost there!! Alllmost free!

a few snapshots of the moment …

These three days since my last post feel like 30!

Honest to god truth. Like I hopped onto the speedway of life with which¬†even the German autobahn couldn’t compete.

Because I dare not and could not recount the moments filling these days, I provide a synopsis snapshot for my own records if nothing else.

a. I am moving. The new place is not a done deal — yet. I’ve found what I really want and have been working to manifest. It is in process as references are checked, etc. I rejoice for having found it!

b. I’ve spent oodles upon oodles of hours researching the multilayered legal aspects and finest minute details of terminating my lease immediately. Arizona law stipulates that immediate termination without financial obligation beyond payment for final date of residence is legal in domestic abuse. In other words, one can be immediately released from a lease when one’s safety is endangered. There is a record of the assault with the police and I can leave immediately.

My mother always said I should be a lawyer. I’ve got a super-good mind for law, its details and tediousness and dare I say its language! I did seriously consider law school. However, I’ve the mind, heart, soul, spirit and purpose of a writer.

Still have undeniable affinity with law and its thought/reasoning/intelligence though!

c. The goodness of being a nomad and anti-clutter Nazi who moves (over and over and over and over!) only with what she can put in her Subaru reveals itself yet again! Once my new place is secured (and I believe that it will be), moving will require nothing more than some trips with the Subaru! No need to pack to my usual expertise and precision exemplifying a great gift for spatial reasoning and reflecting a true dislike of clutter. Keep it simple is my lifeblood!

d. I’ve no bed. No furniture. Meaning that when I get this studio … dada dum dum … purchases become essential. This is NOT the time to accept my cot as a means of sleep day in and day out into infinity! I’ve not had a bed since July 2011. More than three freakin’ years ago!

If I revealed where I’ve slept, either your heart would break or you’d think, damn, she is ONE COURAGEOUS WOMAN!!

Both are valid.

Speaking of beds, I’ve long felt that being bedless for years would make an unusual and fascinating post for readers interested in the unusual and unconventional (which I embody to the hilt, I must confess). Being without a bed … it’s not what you think. It’s not what you might imagine. I could really write a short ebook on the subject, the effect and toll on the psyche.

I’d entitle it: “Bed Hair. But No Bed.” (copyrighted!!!)

e. My diet has been shitty!! Shitty! shitty! Reason being that I’m at the house with the raging lunatic only to sleep and bathe. I miss and NEED the regularity of eating healthful meals and regularly. I’m a poster girl for bad eating lately.

Moving will absolutely right these wrongs, rebalance my life and redirect me down the positive path. I cannot move soon enough. Soon as I get the green light, I’m good and gone! Easy loads with the car. Can EASILY do it all in a day by my petite yet rugged self.

f. I haven’t spoken to or even crossed paths with the raging lunatic roommate for almost two weeks. That’s a lot considering how small the house is. I want out. O-U-T. Soon.

g. Got hard choices still to make about how to proceed with getting out safely. That’s all on that.

Enough for now. Wishing life were easier. Hoping and thinking that it will be when I’m no longer under the thumb of the raging lunatic dictator.

All for now and it’s ample!

The practice

A lil’ salt, a lotta pepper …

Santa in August?

The Fed Ex truck passed by this morning and I got all anticipatory like a kid who’d just spotted Santa on Christmas Eve.

So like that kid with face not quite pressed to the window, I stood waiting and waiting in the event he’d pause on the way back down the hill.

He didn’t; in fact, he didn’t pass again at all.

Why the excitement over the Fed Ex truck? Because I aspire to be a Fed Ex driver? Because the driver’s a creature of beauty and charm? No.

It’s because my new MacBook Pro is due to arrive any day! Today’d be the soonest. I’ve already patiently waited years for this upgrade. What’s another day or two or three? Still, super ready and excited!

{And aware of the heaps o’ work the migration from a Powerbook with a PPC processor to a Pro with Intel chip will entail. I’ve prepared myself with research and homework so feel up to the task, closeted geek that I am. Still, a complicated, challenging migration to be sure.}

Tick tick tick tick tick

So goes the clock at the house a day after the roommate dumped my homemade hummingbird solution, apologized most insincerely, shouted verbal assaults, pushed me and stormed off.

Man, when simplified, sure makes her look bad.

That tick tick tick is the sound of the tension in the house. The sound of possibly another impending explosion from J.

{btw, reason I don’t write her first name that’s four letters and rhymes with Rudy is because I want to take NO chance of her stumbling upon my blog. Ever. Oh the hell that’d unleash in the house!}

Where was I? Tick tick tick. The sound of another possible explosion from “Rudy with a J.”

She won’t admit she overstepped the boundaries of respect, common courtesy and roommate decency. Won’t admit she was in the wrong in dumping my hummingbird solution. Won’t admit she was in the wrong pushing me and being truly an arrogant loud self-interested bitch from start to finish.

Thank god I’m looking for neither apology nor change from her! Life taught me well: One cannot make another change.

Too, tick tick tick goes the clock in my time remaining in this house.

“Rudy” and I have butted heads before. That’s misleading. It should read: “I’ve stood up to her gross and over-the-top controls before and got kneecapped and in the identical manner: with loud shouting argumentative dictator commands and ZERO listening, regard or respect.”

It’s who she is; it’s how she chooses to respond to issues.

This time, it’s different. There’s no resolution. No “sitting down and working it out by healthy communication.” HA!

No “reconciliation” — however superficial and shallow and designed to ward off warfare it be. Because living with “Rudy” means warfare or submission. No gray area. No in-between. Two extremes, all or nothing.

There is “Rudy” in anger running the house. There is me in my corner. Invisible — or trying to be — to preserve my life. “Maybe if I’m REAL quiet … REAL still … maybe if I don’t move … if I don’t breathe … they won’t notice me. And the attacks will stop. The assaults. The pain and the agony of isolation.”

No better could I describe my childhood. Boom! Right there.

I understand that this (home) situation is a re-enactment of my childhood. J. is playing the role — a character from my childhood — well.

My mission that I accept is to keep saying my affirmations.

“I thank J. for her part in my healing and transformation. I love and bless and forgive J. I let it all go. I love and bless and forgive myself. I go free in peace.”

It’s easy and tempting to get stuck in brooding. Isolated brooding, which is even worse.

It’s “easy” because it’s familiar. Practiced behaviors and responses to warfare and world crashing down around me every moment through childhood.

Change can be hard, even when it’s desired and you know necessary.

My mission now, as J. directs or potentially unleashes her negativity and anger upon me WHO DID NOTHING WRONG {highlight, bold, neon lights} … as J. abdicates all responsibility and makes ME the problem … is to:

a. breathe
b. embrace and be grateful for the teaching and the healing and the freedom this is leading me to, long as I accept this as a teaching it is;
c. forgive. forgive and then forgive again;
d. love myself. and if I can’t put it in those words or accept love of self, then begin with being kind to myself. kind, gentle and forgiving. it’s a start and step up from where I’ve been.


e. look for a new place to live. keep looking even if it appears hopeless (i.e., “there are no rooms, no leads, no openings” … which for me can lead to “no chance, no hope, it’s all futile, I’m stuck here, I hate it here, my life is shit, I’m shit just like my mother said, what’s the point of anything, what’s the point of living …”

Old refrain.

Time for a new song! And that’s not only possible but doable thanks to being in, finally!, the right place/town/state!

I began this post thinking it’d be a series of blurbs. Apparently I had more to say than I thought. Anyhow, it’s all good and for me helpful to write and capture these moments live.

Someday soon I won’t be living in this house with “Rudy.” And I’ll want to look back on this chapter with fond memories.

I’m lyin’ through my teeth. ūüėČ

Unreason, unfairness & ugh, my mail’s in the trash

Elephants never forget. Since I’m a human and not a pachyderm, perhaps it’s why I did.

Since I’m therapeutically releasing anger about the roommate (see post(s) prior), I want to mention a recent incident, lightweight compared to today’s yet telling and revealing of her character all the same.

As two Costco members, we each receive the monthly coupon books in the mail. Each bears our individual names.

J. couldn’t care less about the coupon book and tosses it into the trash.
Me, I LOVE the Costco coupons! So much so that I make it a special occasion, usually by seating myself, pouring myself a glass of wine and poring over it.

J. knows I love my Costco coupons. In fact, before I began receiving mine, she “donated” hers since it was trash-bound anyhow.

Note that I said we now each get our own in the mail. It’s pertinent to the story.

The other day they arrived in the mail, which she generally retrieves. As I dropped something into the trash can, I noticed her copy. I dug in a little farther and there was mine!

After pulling it outta the garbage, I mentioned it to her along the lines of:

“Please be mindful with the mail and reading the names (sidenote: three roommates reside here). My Costco coupons were in the trash.”

A sensitive and reasonable person might’ve responded with: “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. I’ll be sure to look at the mail and ensure it doesn’t happen again.”

J. however is neither sensitive nor reasonable. Her response:


Of course. All Costco members receive identical coupons!

However, I didn’t say that. Would’ve fallen on deaf ears. In relating, reason is not her strong suit. Or weak. It just isn’t.

To diffuse her escalating self-defensive shouting, I simply and calmly reiterated my request: “Please be mindful of reading the mail before tossing it.”

Because, believe it or not, bitch, others live here too! Two others — five others when including the dogs but they don’t get mail.

‘Course I didn’t say that. But it’s the truth. The roommate has her good points and side to be sure.

However, as a roommate and no doubt partner (she’s divorced), she’s loud, dominating, domineering, brash, insensitive and pushy. ARGUMENTATIVE and seemingly without remorse or contrition when she’s done wrong or wronged someone.

The one time I heard her say “sorry,” it was with a shrug and so insincere and flippant that my jaw would’ve dropped if I didn’t know her from months of cohabitating.

When my anger cools and I’ve gained distance from this situation (relocation efforts underway), I’ll look at her through altered lenses. J. perceives others as an affront to her rulership and domain. Even mundane matters easily resolved with a listening ear and sincere “I’m sorry” are for her a stretch if not unobtainable.

She lacks a sense of fairness or proportion, blowing even minor incidents (like tossing my mail in the garbage) into hysterical global events.

I get to leave all that behind when I move. She, however, has to live with it. For a woman who’s 64 and no doe in the woods, I don’t see it changing. I really don’t. I just think she’s too embedded in her stuff to see her way to the other side and give people the respect and regard they deserve.

Sad, really.

I can sleep now that that’s written. ‘Night now.

The domestic queen loses her crown

When a line’s been crossed, there’s no going back.

The roommate, the queen dictator featured in posts prior, crossed a line. There’s no going back and there’s no moving forward in terms of our cohabitation. There is only moving out.

Left a pot of homemade sugar water for the hummingbirds on the stove to cool yesterday. Get up today, look for the pot to restock the feeder. Where is it?! Gone! She’d dumped it. Washed the pot and spoon and put ’em away.

It wasn’t hers and it wasn’t hers to do anything with! Be assured if you’d done likewise, she’d come atcha with guns blazing.

“What happened to the pot of water on the stove?” I ask.

“Oops. I threw it out. Sorry. {shrug, with all the sincerity of a psychopathic robber apologizing to the family.}

“That wasn’t yours to throw out.”

“I’m not going to argue! {she shouts, attacks verbally, storms away} {note: everything with J. is an argument when you’re not toeing her line.}

“We’re going to work this out!” I say, following at a safe distance. “Whether it’s a pan of water or sugar water or anything else, it’s not yours to throw away.”

Roommate U-turns, gets eye-to-eye 6 inches from my face, pushes me on the shoulders, shouts some stupid attack.

I instinctively recoil. “Don’t touch me! I want to know this (with the pan) won’t happen again.”

Roommate storms off shouting attacks and no commitment that it won’t happen again {duh!}

J. is a very controlling woman. She controls me, she controls the third roommate, she controls the house. It’s her domain. She tells you what’s what. If you question or attempt to discuss what’s what, she argues and shouts 99 percent of the time.

It’s her way or no way.

She’s dogmatic, bossy and intolerant. No different from my family environment. I can almost — almost — tolerate it only BECAUSE it is so familiar.
Don’t claim it’s healthy or positive, only damn familiar that I can tolerate it because I did and had to tolerate it for years years and years.

Worst of all, she’s disrespected and disregarded me. Ironic from one who preaches respect for her and her house and is uber-quick to demand it when SHE feels it’s absent!

Take a look in the mirror, missy! What you demand as respect isn’t respect at all. It’s submission to your controls. A projection so won’t have to look at the disrespecting and disregarding person YOU are.

And that’s the truth.

To repeat, a line’s been crossed. There’s no going back or forward, only out. I’m full on looking for a new residence. Using my anger to for positive change.

I will not stand for any more of her underhanded shenanigans and controls, covert or overt.

I will not stand for physical actions or being touched in anger from her or anyone in a domicile or anywhere else.

It’s over. I’m moving on.

Dear Universe, please open the door to my next place immediately. Help me leave this bs once and for all. And to never again be in an environment where another reigns as dictator, controls, disregards, disrespects, DOESN’T LISTEN.

Help move me into a place of support, respect and regard. A space of sanctuary. A place of grace.

Thank you.

Sleep, Where Art Thou? Dunno. Let’s Check the TV Guide.

Holy headboard, Batman! Foiled again!

Once ah-gain, I’m awakened out of a dead sleep in the wee hours by the TV. The volume was at a level of the faucet’s slow drip in the background. Drip … drip … drip … drip. A low yet audible sound that worms its way into the brain. It’s a subversive irritation and annoyance. Like the single mosquito in the room that flits in and out around you and won’t leave you alone. It’s more annoying than being bombarded by the entire troop!

The TV for the second day in a row pulling me out of deep REM!! It “wouldn’t be so bad” were I in a healthy and rested state.

BUT I AM NOT! I’m dealing with serious health issues, profound fatigue, nine months of constant sleep deprivation (a result of pain & injury), cumulative exhaustion from the all-brawn-no-brain job that just ended.

Simply, I do not have the inner reserves to cope with or endure this continuing thread of sleep disruption OR the TV as alarm clock!!!

My roommate, the early bird, likes to watch the TV first thing in the morning. The TV is right outside my bedroom. That’d be less of a problem were it not for the fact that she turns on the TV, watches for a bit and then leaves the room. With the TV still on!

Now, that alone challenges and counters my practice of not wasting, of conserving resources. Examples: When I leave a room and won’t immediately return, I turn off the lights. If I’m not watching the TV, I turn it off. When I was a kid, my dad was a REAL stickler for that. Beyond that training, however, I’m like that. It’s wasteful to leave on lights or televisions when they’re not in use.

Now, I’m in such a chronic state of depletion, distress and exhaustion, poor health and fatigue that there’s NO place in me that can grant an allowance to the roommate, whose behavior IS the cause and reason for lost sleep in these circumstances.

J. is a very hard person to live with. She’s demanding, controlling and a poor listener. She’s loud, bossy and unfair. Inconsiderate, argumentative and unyielding when really some yielding would make EVERYONE’S life easier.

To live with her has required of me (and the third roommate) submission and silence. We cannot win the battle or the war. I’ve needed to not only compromise my needs but bury them, disregard them and pretend them out of existence to live with J. and “keep the peace.”

But this … this impact on my health and sleep … it cannot stand for it. I cannot grant her or anyone license to destroy what little “well-being” I do have and FIGHT to have against forces that would and do negate it.

Approaching J. on ANYTHING that matters to you or involves your needs is scary BECAUSE she is argumentative, disregarding, unfair, etc. — essentially the above-mentioned traits.

But pain and illness and exhaustion make you do things you wouldn’t normally do. They make you fight for your life. And so this morning I swallowed my fear and broached the topic of the TV waking me out of a dead sleep and could she please keep the volume down and turn it off when she leaves the room so that it won’t drone on and on.

I was genuinely surprised that she didn’t yell at me, shoot me down or argue. I guess that she knows enough about the exhaustion of my job (just lost) to have some sympathy.

Whether she really heard me in the request will be revealed tomorrow and the day after and the day after that.

It’s so sad that it takes only crumbs of consideration (on the part of the roommate or anyone else, really) to feel like I hit a mini-jackpot! I really am accustomed to being TOTALLY disregarded and treated like a POS due to my childhood. Sigh. History like that is hard to resolve.

That’s it for now. I was gonna hit the streets with job applications and resumes today but I’m just too damn tired. I need sleep and I need it now! I need quiet and I needed it nine months ago!

Were $ no object, I’d go check into a motel for some sleep and solitude. Sans TV!

the domestic cyclone alters course for a day

I didn’t know it was gonna happen. Didn’t know it was coming.¬†

If I had, I might’ve come home earlier after work yesterday.¬†

I might’ve opened the fresh bottle of pinot grigio earlier. Might’ve sat sooner in the side yard with my newspaper and the three dogs and watched the pass.¬†

Had I known my cyclonic roommate was gonna be away and¬†that I’d have the house nearly to my myself — sharing it only with another roommate who holes up in his garage man cave — I’d-a come home earlier and enjoy the extraordinarily rare space and solitude. Definitely.

Wherever J. went isn’t a concern. Just that she’s gone somewhere¬†— gotten outta the house at all for longer than an errand! — is reason to return home directly after work! Is reason to cut short or eliminate the frequent dilly-dallying that serves as procrastination¬†and avoidance tools.¬†

Wherever J. went isn’t a concern. Just that she’s gone somewhere¬†for longer than an errand is the reason the house is quiet. The cyclone has ceased and desisted — for ¬†now.

Like the house, I too am at now¬†— for now. I slumbered better — more fitfully and deeper than usual — for the house at rest. There were no loud sounds of doors opening and slamming. No shouts. No yelling for the dogs for their walks. No barking at the third roommate. No sound of the car starting up.

No sound of the cyclone crossing the carpet across the house.

Upon first awaking, I felt different. In that nebulous early state of consciousness when the brain’s slipping the gears into everyday gears. I didn’t know why. Recognized only ¬†that I felt different. Better. More rested. In less physical pain.¬†

Then, as I came into focus in this world, the cause was revealed. I didn’t even hafta go searching for it!¬†

The roommate’s gone. The house is stilled.

What’s remarkable is that because of that, that seemingly small and innocuous alteration in daily living, my world improved. For the night.

Because of that small alteration — the temporary absence of a loud and obstructive roommate — my (w)holistic self gained rest.

My injured shoulder received a shot in the arm of healing. Positive indeed!

In case you ever wondered or doubted, let me assure that other people’s energies DO matter and do affect the surroundings. They affect me, especially as a Pisces, aka a walking sponge.

J.’s absence is welcomed. I wish it’d continue for a week. Bet I’d get more sleep and rest and peace and healing effects in that single week than I would in three months in her domain¬†and under her dominion!

Not to be overlooked: Yesterday — Saturday, July 26 — was the new moon in Leo, at 3 degrees. Coming up: creating a new vision board.¬†

Shhhhh, perhaps I ought not say it too loudly: How ’bout envisioning a residence without the loudmouth J.! —¬†the domestic cyclone across the carpets.




Back Home. Uh, Not So Much.

Being back¬†… being¬†back “home” feels like putting on an old shoe that’s too tight.

Or a coat that constricts through the shoulders and back and underarms.

Being back … after being away and not just away but having a good time … feels familiar. Familiar not as in “comfortable” like many folks feel upon returning home after a trip.

Familiar as in old patterns and old ways and and old ways of relating that need to go.

After extending my stay in Flagstaff to the latest minute, partly so I’d arrive “home” after roommate J. had gone to bed, I¬†arrived at night and pretty much went straight to bed.

Today, in the “glare” of the morning — and realities — and with the rest and enjoyments and perspectives gained in¬†my albeit too-brief overnight trip — I see the need to move.¬†

Whenever a situation needs to be released, I ask myself: Is it them? or me? I mean, what if all that’s required is an attitude adjustment on my part to make this work?

What if it’s my blind spots that are causing distorting, causing me to view the situation through dark eyes?

What if all that’s needed is for me to improve¬†my well-being, emotional and physical, is to change up my point of view?

Tricky stuff. And indicative of my innate cleverness and proclivity to otherthink things.

The heart. The heart holds the answers, they say. The heart never, or rarely, faileth. 

When I consult my heart, which in truth I don’t do nearly as consistently as I did in early years (but then, life’s hardships and disappointments hadn’t accumulated into the mountain of today either) …

… when I consult my heart, she whispers “let go. you need to grow. this {“home” situation] is old hat. a way of the past. like with Kingman (town of former residence) and elsewhere, you’ll find that the longer you stay, the worse it will become for you. {for your roommate, not at all.}”

“Overstaying does not bring benefits. august can be your transformative month,’ says spirit now. “Keep doing the beneficial things you’re doing for your health and well-being. Keep writing — every day. Keep looking for new employment and residence. It’s imperative to keep moving forward — and not use your energy for the usual hunkering down, gritting the teeth and bearing it out. Nothing good comes from that and will in fact only worse matters.”

That’s what I hear this first morning back at the house after travel. Though brief,¬†the getaway was¬†restorative. It was good.¬†



Home Alone. Uh, not so much.

Way I see it, I’m gettin’ some much-needed alone time. Even though where I’m goin’, there’ll be two people and two dogs!

Here’s the thing. My roommate and house owner/landlord is almost always here! In fact, I’ve got two roommates. The other is a male friend of hers. And though he’s usually here technically, he spends almost all of his time in his man cave in the garage. I often don’t even know if the guy’s here unless he hobbles into the kitchen!

Roommate J … when she’s here, you know. You know even if she’s in her office in the very back unseen part of the house! You know by her booming voice. Her phone calls that are audible at the far other end of the house. You know by her comings and goings about the house, her buzz.

Hell, she’s here even when she’s not here!

She’s got that presence. And I don’t mean presence of a divine angel watching over you, protecting you, intervening during mishaps, perhaps even saving you from an otherwise certain death. That’s actually happened to me, btw.

She’s got presence like a dictator has presence. Like a dictator makes known that it’s HIS nation, HIS rules, HIS punishments, HIS dictates, J. does similarly but obviously on a much smaller scale!

Her presence and rules and ways are so well-established here that, as I said, she’s here even when she’s not.

Trouble is, she’s almost always here! She works from home and doesn’t go out socially all that much. Her chair in the living room — which, incidentally, is also her space, I’m disallowed from hanging out there — is her throne from which she oversees her kingdom at {address unpublished} in Prescott, Arizona.

So strong is her presence and overriding her dictates that though I’ve got my own little space in one corner of the house, I don’t, REALLY. And I’m very very very rarely alone.

I’m someone who needs alone time. REAL alone time. Like the house EMPTY. And not for an hour while someone’s off running errands. I mean alone time. Like I don’t see someone for hours an’ hours an’ hours an’ hours.

This arrangement’s been in place since April 1.

So yeah, I’m feeling squeezed. Suffocated. Slowly strangled.

Hahah, ain’t that ironic Just now bumped into the roommate in the kitchen and she’s off to go play with horses. Meaning the house’ll be empty for a while! And I gotta go off to the friggin’ job!

Anyhow, what I’m getting around to sayin’ is that the other day I got news that my stepmother (not the proverbial wicked sort) and her sister and their two dogs will be passing through Flagstaff, in northern Arizona, about 2 hours from here, tomorrow. I was invited up for the night.

So I should be headin’ out to pay them a visit tomorrow. A visit that even with a group of four creatures in a large lively town will be more alone time than I’ve had in quite some time!

I’m excited to have the muzzle removed, even for but a day.

{is that a sad statement to make at age 57 or what?}