Strip Down

I am stripping down my life's environment. Changing life events seems very unlikely, I am running along a deeply grooved track of repeating circles and events flash through circumference completions like a centrifuge.

What I can do is strip down the environment I am upholding. I have bugga'all energy for daily life tasks, so if I put things away in boxes - h'walla - less cleaning. My senses are also desperate to see less complexity. Clearing surfaces gives more places for the eye gates to rest. There is constant movement in a city of some 2 million people, too much for me.

I feel quite desperate today, in an exhausted beyond senses kind of way. Trying to put on a sock, and just keep tipping all over the place through tiredness. And why am I so tired? I could write a book on it probably. Basically workload in is greater than daily/weekly/monthly energy allotment. The deficit is at the point of amusing.

I could also express this process of strip down as me being totally, utterly, completely, desperately, over my life expression. Away things will go into boxes to spare me more hours wiping dust from my life.

When a friend asked recently how I am, I was able to express it this way: "Quite a lot like an old obese-feeling grandma trying to walk up the beach on soft sand with armloads of the kids umbrellas and towels and buckets and spades, and with a gale wind blowing in my face. Yep. Add in wtf levels of pain and there ya have it, life ongoing."

So, I will continue with stripping back my house, putting things in containers with lids, throwing things out. Partly as a pre-pre pack for moving at the end of the year, but mostly because I have not the physical or emotional strength to care for my environment or the stuff in it. I want my surroundings, my life, to be different; but I can’t change the basic layout of how each day goes so I am making it less to look at, less to see which needs dusting, less to care about, and more simple surfaces. In months or longer I can open boxes and think ooo that’s nice I’ll put that out where I can see and use it, or wtf do I hold on to this and move it on.

Most of what sits about my living areas are the tools I have collected to assist me through the etheric madhouse called the past decade. What a pixie hayride this has been.

I spent a day clearing off the back patio area, tossing old pots and plants which will not thrive, getting rid of things the world handed me and I was supposed to make something from but couldn’t. They sit about in a rather accusatory way yelling ‘you’re supposed to be creative and successful enough to make me into something useful and gorgeous’. Well fuck it, I can’t even do that for myself most days, so the inanimate objects can go go go.

Did I mention the inner desperation to change my life, my environment? Like - this desperation has wheels and gears and makes a whirring crunching sound as it spins about doing something unfathomable, and mostly keeping my insides stirred and unsettled. It becomes a pain in the body which I cannot shift, and a fog in the brain that smudges the details of every potentially amusing scene, refusing these small distractions from its truth of living in a pile of bullshit deep enough to smother giraffes.

Desperate. I am desperately lonely, desperately stuck inside this body, desperately unfulfilled by the past 25 years of housework and crisis management, desperately unimpressed with this world's entertainments, desperately dis-interested in watching others suffer, desperately screaming inside for something somewhere to be different.

I feel that I am not much of anything known or usable, and a whole lot of something unknown and even unreachable. This makes for a isolate life experience with a constant drive to find a use for myself, whilst simultaneously wishing to detach from the desire to be anything. I twist about like a little whirlwind.