Waking up

I woke up this morning and the first thing I did was jump out of bed and begin rearranging my apartment. I did not go to the bathroom. I did not make coffee. I did not take my morning medicine.

I moved two chairs out of my second room and one table into it. Then I went to the bathroom and made coffee and pondered my next move.

Six hours later I am still moving things and pondering.

It is a process born out of too little control in my life for most of my life. When I cannot do other things, I can always rearrange my living space.

Yesterday I redid what had been my living room/bedroom. Moving furniture and plants around and then going to sleep only to dream I was living in our old family nursing home. Everyone was there. My grandmother, my mother, my aunts and even some of the women who used to work there. The only difference was that in this dream there was an old man in a bed in the library. He was hooked up to IVs and his bed, as only dreams can make it, was also an old beat up pick up truck. Everything was lit by that dingy yellow light incandescent bulbs give off. It was uncomfortable and I felt both defensive and awkwardly incompetent.

Waking up was slow and awful. I wanted to put as much space as possible between me and these feelings. I felt dirtied somehow and not the kind of dirty you can wash off in a shower. I think this was the first time I woke up and began moving things around before I did anything else. The only thing I paused for was to tie my shoes tighter to support my feet during the move.

Now I have completely flipped the rooms. I will sleep in what is supposed to be the bedroom according to normal standards and watch television in the front room. It has been a long process and I am still not finished rearranging the bedroom, but I am finally feeling better.

Maybe now I can break my fast and figure out the rest.