wreckage, weariness and wizardy of Oz

Departure from the House of Wincing went as expected and thank y’all for the good wishes!

As expected, I left the room in fine condition (there is no other way, regardless of how shitty the final curtain call may be). Full (small) deposit was thankfully returned (always a risk of otherwise with obnoxious worked-up parties) and from me the key. As I exited for the last time, I graciously thanked the smoker who bid me good riddance with a sour disposition and garumph.

Wouldn’t take a psychic to predict that outcome.

Take it from one who knows: Moving is a lotta work, even if it’s a single carload. Everything’s hauled in but there’s no place to put any of it, save hanging clothes in closet, with no furniture except a charming little corner stand for knickknacks.

A single bed was pulled from basement storage and assembled. A single feather “mattress” stands in the stead of the cheap soft regular mattress for the purpose of sparing a bad back.

Overflowing king-sized sheets from the roommate tucked in and my contour pillow traveled with from Tacoma (it survived the cut, you betcha!), some serious sage burning and I called it a night one.

Bed like a cot, it’s my camp spot. Boxes serve as nightstand; today I’m off to Costco for more boxes to serve as dresser and table.

On tap also: a deep cleaning of room and adjoining bathroom to clear out grottiness.

I’m well beyond exhaustion. My days are run by the sheer will of necessity and adrenalin; my nights, by fatigue and sorrow. Yesterday while making the crawl across town from one residence to the next, I was cuffed by the reality that things in Denver, to date three months in, haven’t really worked out to my favor or success.

Three weeks in a motel. Housing no. 1 soured rapidly in two months. Housing no. 2 begun. Not the best of conditions and far from my imaginings or true self.

Loss of the food-service job (yes, that job after a month is ceased and for the best). About to begin a cleaning job with scant hours initially (definitely not enough to live on).

I’ve been in Denver how long? Three months.

I mean really, who lives like this?!

If the universe were a worksite, the accumulation of my overtime would be so great that the universe would kick me out saying, “we can’t afford to pay you.”

It can be said now. My life is a train wreck. I’m the survivor, standing — blessed to be standing and not have my legs severed — some 20 feet away, in shock and surveying the wreckage of twisted metal and shattered glass and smoke rising from the heap.

In the words of David Byrne: How did I get here?

Screams pour forth with the smoke; my own demons and dreams crushed in the wreckage. The rocky plains just beyond the mountain tunnel traversed is absent human intrusions save for a sign a ways back reading: “Next Services, 10 Miles.”

What will come of me? Will anyone appear to help? How will I clean up this mess? A broom and dustpan and mop are hardly sufficient for a crushed train and I can’t leave the mess out here on the plains. Will I ever write the book that is my destiny and changes all for the better and completes my spiritual contract (one of them) and gives my life its meaning?

When can I get the better of procrastination rather than letting it get the better of me?

When will I be gainfully employed and safely housed in a location of quality and stability?

I’m too exhausted to think past my head bandaged by a makeshift wrap, an old T-shirt strewn with assorted belongings on the dirt — McGyver that I am.

Strangely, I’ve discovered something deeper than depression. Exhaustion. Sheer utter bone-crunching weariness.

I am it. I am that. On this date: October 16, 2011.

I can’t tell which is worse, the screams of those demons and dreams crushed and pinned inside by the wrung-out metal or having survived the wreck.

I dunno. I’m too tired to figure it out. I just want to go home. Wake up like Dorothy in “The Wizard of Oz” safe in a bed in the company of good solid caring people in the comforting realization that it was all a bad dream.

{a bad dream a bad dream a bad dream………….}


5 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. fatcatfromvox
    Oct 16, 2011 @ 13:20:40

    I hope you’re new abode will be less mentally taxing, even if it is less pleasent to look at. No smokers this time? No psychos?


  2. cruisekitten
    Oct 17, 2011 @ 12:24:24

    I’m glad to hear you got out of that toxic place, I am putting all my energy into the hopes that this will be much better and you will finally be offered something in terms of employment that is not such a stretch from where you would be.


  3. longeyesamurai
    Oct 18, 2011 @ 05:20:14

    Hope you found a place where you’ll be able to recharge your batteries and be an island of (relative) peace away from the storm…


    • allycatadventures
      Oct 18, 2011 @ 12:14:25

      @capra – “… be an island of (relative) peace away from the storm…” Far from it! I’m stuck smack dab in the thick of it. I’m still without income, employment (excluding a cleaning job of scant hours (maybe 8 a week?) to begin anon and a means to support self. Drug-dealing and other sordid activities are lookin’ better every friggin’ moment of the day.


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