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It just keeps going


I’ve been having a rough ride here in my “exile”  and I’ve been unpleasant to be around. It’s tougher to be unhappy in the midst of one’s family than in the midst of strangers or friends. I think that’s because familiars assume they know you and are made anxious by one’s misery and so try to fix it and put it into familiar categories, and so don’t always manage to be helpful. I’ve been aware of the depth of my disappointment with Gideon’s visit, and also the height of my expectations and dreams: that he would be welcoming and appreciative of the work and time and money I’ve put into the house; that he would recognize my virtues; that he would honor and respect my mother and sister and make an effort to mend the rifts rather than to exacerbate them. But power is key to him, and he likes to fling it by emphasizing his “hyper generosity” (his words), his wealth, and calling attention to the many ways in which I let him down, flake out, and in general fail to meet his agenda. I had hoped , and now I accept the fact that I need to put that hope away, and focus on generating a new vision for the future, a new game plan.

I’ve packed up my hope chest and sent it out into the universe. My heart is cranked open a crack to let in the possibility of a great big new love, the love of the kind of man I’ve dreamed about all my life. Think of me as the  nun shopping for a hunk of testosteronal prowess  in a market of stuffed toys.

I feel very weak and easily agitated and irritated.
I find fault with my sister and with my mother and when I do manage to catch myself, I  force myself to face the fact that what I dislike in them is what I dislike in myself: the distractibility, pettiness, fearfulness. Family is a big refracting mirror, isn’t it?

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