Under A Crescent Moon
Monday, Be Gone!

In Which The Mule Chooses Fight Over Flight

I saw a raccoon loping down Sam Huston this afternoon. That's not a misspelling, by the way, the "o" has been dropped from that particular street's name and it makes me wonder almost daily if it's a mistake or intentional. But that's where the raccoon was, cutting through yard after yard in the bright midday sun.

I felt a little like my ring-tailed friend today, racing against the clock, out when I should be in. I went to bed early so I wouldn't gripe about getting up at eight on a Sunday to go grocery shopping. Michael nudged me awake at ten. The profanity began early.

I was stressed nearly to tears last week when Michael told me his parents would be staying with us and making my office their bedroom suite for 4 days at Thanksgiving. My office is so much more than an office. It's my enclave, my super secret hide out, the place I go to read, to write. It's where I go to meditate, something that I've only recently started doing again after nearly four months. I was feeling intruded upon and doing my best to swallow my frustration.

It's shameful, in some ways, how little it took for me to become unhinged. I was relieved to find that I could talk to Michael about it even though I brought the subject up at 5:30 Thursday morning. By the time we got up a few hours later he had a better idea. They will have our bedroom. Problem solved. Easy peasy.

He's creative, that one. He notices things that I can't believe anyone would notice let alone accomodate. Briefly, for example, I simply cannot "split" my hearing. If two people are talking to me about two different things I shut out all of it so that none of the conversation comes in, let alone gets retained. My brows furrow and I want to turn away. I'm convinced I have some form of misophonia. I have a very low sound tolerance.

On Saturday I was listening to an interview on NPR and Michael needed something. He passed me a note with maybe two words on it. I fell in love with him ten times more because I knew then that he realized how sound affects me. No one else has ever acknowledged it. I hadn't even bothered to acknowledge it because it makes me feel crazy. It was such an easy and compassionate fix.  It was offered without judgement. I could pull away from the sound I was immersed in and give him my attention. It took fifteen years of marriage for him to come up with something but hey, better late than never.

So much for little confessions. The whole point of this post is to say that I feel like I can breathe again. I don't feel like the raccoon from this afternoon, exposed and searching for a safe place. I've let go of NaNoWriMo and focused on blogging daily which is more meaningful for me. Something had to go, the stress of a self-imposed deadline seemed like the best cut to make.

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