The Dignity of Clean (revised)

What I posted yesterday was so highly judgemental I had to delete it, revise and repost. The places our (my) minds go when desperately over-stressed are sobering..

FULL CIRCLE, detail,m/m

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Three months of trying to find a permanent caregiver has left me craving clean.

I’m not living in squalor mind you but Emma is equally stressed and peeing every which way

And the lighter-colored tile grout is tell-tale discolored from her “outside the box” yearning for remembered regularity and count-on-able smooth vibes in our home.

My dishwashers sliding drawers are tilted so as to keep returning to loading stance even when I shove them back into their rightful place too many times. There is a spoon on the bottom of the dishwasher having not quite made it as I threw it with my one good hand from my wheelchair aiming for the utensil holder. In no way can I bend into the gaping opening of the washer to retrieve the thing. I shove the door finally closed and look at Emma who is keeping her distance.

In overly stressed atmospheres such as I mention I head to the bathroom in a quest for war paint to shift my dangerously smoldering sanity.

On my make-up tray are 6 lipstick bullets. Each standing naked so I enjoy one less taxing movement (opening it), I choose carefully.

For particularly serious transformation I choose a deep berry shade which I usually blot heartily to look less “overt” shall we say but today I leave it as-is because I remind myself of those Woobabe tribesmen who stain their lips deep blue and jump up and down exposing their teeth in hopes of attracting a mate.

I am fierce.

I am also desperate. (I have never really felt close to this state and I am pleased I still feel a modicum of curiosity about it which, I think, keeps me from the psych ward for the time being).

I call my squad.

One goes shopping and brings me a coffee and scone and paper towels for Emma’s pee. And white gladiolas too God bless her.

One gets the mail and takes the trash and folds laundry and tells me how strong I am.

One walks and brushes Emma and helps me think through my next steps to stay alive and makes my bed the way I need.

It is 2:30 in the afternoon.

I head for bed.

The tile grout still betrays the state of affairs around here because there is just so much to do I semi-consciously steer my team away from this scrubbing job because there are more benign tasks on the lengthy docket.

I am childishly taking care of them while they are trying to take care of me.

I drift off knowing the only thing I know:

ALL THERE IS IS CHANGE, FLUX, SHIFT or whatever the fuck you want to call it.

Both Emma and I heave that kind of deep and long surrendered sigh signaling safety and love.

I am loved.

I am very, very loved.

All residual grime in all corners of my life are ok as they are for the time being.

comments

2 Responses to “The Dignity of Clean (revised)”

  1. Debra Moody on October 21st, 2019

    Git and grime. And dog pee. The reminders of our existence. You are HERE. You are aware; you feel; you love; you loathe. Thank doG for grout gunk and for keeping it real. You are so awesome. XOXO

  2. Jenny on October 23rd, 2019

    I love the post, the first. And revised. Don’t worry about honest desperate feelings, ( i know it really is not about the people) it was the brilliance of you and your squad that shone very bright.
    And i have bags of incontinence pads that someone has to take to the trash, and that action is like love heaving out the grime. Xxx

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