I just poured myself a cup of leftover coffee, meaning I took what has been sitting out since my beautiful Ellen made some early this morning before work, along with a bit I’d shoved into the fridge yesterday, and combined it all in the teapot and reheated it. No wasting here, I buy the good coffee (read: expensive). I am forcing myself to sit down and write, which sometimes seems a little less intimidating if I ease into it in this way, sort of hashing out my current circumstances. I want to write here – post within this space – but I am struggling with it, which, if you’ve read anything I’ve ever written or heard me speak, you probably know that this is a normal thing for me. I am very aware of my size in the universe, amongst all of these other humans and the very grandness of life itself, and I’m in an understanding with my own mediocrity and insignificance. I’m going to take a sip of coffee now, before I continue, because otherwise I will forget and all of that effort to heat the leftover coffee will have been a waste. I’m forever wondering about how my coffee is always so cold so quickly – what am I doing that is more important than sitting down with it? Enjoying and savoring it in its warmth, it’s general character of a thick blanket wrapped around my tongue.
We are doing something here, even if often it doesn’t seem like it. Tonight, when Ellen gets home from work – hopefully with a six-pack of our favorite local wheat because we’re celebrating liberation – we’ll be back in the Airstream. With tin snips. Last night we faced the inevitable that we didn’t want to admit. We’d shoved that damn floorboard up in the front after measuring and remeasuring and drawing three different lines on the board from our template that was off and we were so fucking pissed off and then – it fit perfectly. We sat on a crossbeam, counting down…three two one…slamming our feet into the board with as much synchronicity as we could muster, with her long legs reaching the board faster than my own, and kicked and kicked until that board was in place, the rounded beauty of our Louise girl’s front end looking exactly as it should and I smiled and stood on it and thought about the living that was going to take place on that piece of floor, the place where we’ll come together as a family and share meals, where we will read and sketch and talk and play, and then at night it will be our bed where we whisper things and talk in the way that parents do while our daughter sleeps just past the kitchen, in view of us.
The necessity of the tin snips were realized last night, when we began hacking into Louise’s belly after dark, the light of the porch, our phones, and one work lamp aiding us. We can’t bolt in our new and slightly glorious floor until we can reach the frame from underneath. This realization was upsetting and a bit daunting. I woke up last night sometime, after we’d quit our work and gone in to bed, in a bit of a panic…I’d been dreaming we’d cut into Louise and then the honest realization that we had was altogether overwhelming. We’d planned to replace the belly pan eventually anyway…but it’s just another step, another difficult task, another issue to tackle before we can get to the build. More demolition, more hacking, more of Louise’s history gone. More time spent, to be spent, and another weekend where we felt we’d gotten nowhere.
I am bursting, bursting with words right now but my coffee is making me jittery and my belly is empty and it’s three-thirty-five and I’ve truly had a waste of a day. However, I’m afraid to break from my writing, afraid because I’ve actually sat down and put words to something and what if I don’t finish this and post it?
I’m so ready to go. Yet I wait, Ellen waits, we work, we fight, we make up and make love, we drink, we eat, we shower, we love on our daughter, we keep living, because that’s what you do. You’re supposed to enjoy every second and not only look to the future, but that’s so damn difficult. We’re renovating an Airstream from 1957 and our house is on the market and we’re purging our belongings like crazy and trying to pay down debt because we’re planning for this other life…the one that we want, the one that’s still up in the air, the one that could begin any moment or maybe it won’t for another year or two. It’s hard to figure out this transition, because sometimes I wonder if it’s really a transition at all, or if it’s just another dream that’s dead before it even got started.
I need to go nourish myself, so I am going to go attempt an almond butter/oat/cacao smoothie of sorts and find some socks and moccasins for my chilled toes. Ellen leaves work soon and I can’t wait to see her. I love her deeply and feel so at peace and at home when I wrap myself around her middle, feeling her ribs through her soft shirt.