Oh Good, Grief.

Twice now out of nowhere, I've found myself sobbing in my bed, clutching my grandmother's ashes. Once about three weeks ago, and again last night. I'm having trouble with my mother, it seems that her way of channeling her grief may be to grill me and lash out at me about my life choices. By all visible accounts, I am as happy and stable in every way as I've ever been, which isn't saying there's not room for improvement (note opening sentence), but her supportiveness and open-mindedness of a few months ago appears to have reverted back to the judgement and lack of support I've received my whole life.

I'm moving to Louisville, now, in just a month. Friends were looking for a place for September first, and they love my home and were here last night to fill out paperwork. Assuming my landlords find no issue with their rental history or employment confirmation, they're in here in just over a month. Money from grandma's estate comes in, supposedly, around the same time. My mother doesn't seem to know any more details, and I don't want to grill my uncle who is the executor, since I know he's being bombarded by similar questions from other members of the family.

What this means is that I may still be living here when my friends move in. They hardly have any furniture, so I'll have moved most of my stuff out to be stored using these fun pod things we've got these days that come with a month of free storage, and then they'll ship said pods to wherever they need to go. My friends also want to possibly keep a lot of my furniture. In short, it's been made clear that I am welcome to stay here a week or two until I can get things sorted financially to make the move.

But, I am hoping it doesn't come to that. I am going to Louisville next week, and I am going to ask Joey if it wouldn't make him uncomfortable to loan me the money so that I can have everything settled and get there asap. He wants me there asap, he's offered to help me financially several times lately, and he's got the money to do it, plus I know that I can pay him back in a matter of just a couple of weeks.

Back to the sobbing, though. This week, my mom decided to text me, insinuating I'd sell off all my grandmother's antiques and other things I've got that are of some value, stating that "the past" dictates she ask this. I have never once sold off a single thing from my grandmother, or things that friends and family have given me over the years. If anything, it could be said that I hold onto things well past their value because of their sentimental worth. There is no way in hell I will get rid of any of these things. What I may part with are a fair number of mid-century pieces of furniture that are worth something and have almost no sentimental value to me. That's it. I have collected these things over the years as giveaways from various places or pulled off of boulevards. I don't know where she gets these ideas, and she's ALWAYS had these ideas about me.

She also grills me about my work. Though it's more complicated than the pat answer of, "I freelance, mom," she also has no reason to assume I'm not getting by better than ever. I haven't asked for money but once in probably two years. That doesn't appear to count for anything. She is hardwired in the belief that "work" means going to another place, punching a clock, and getting a single paycheck from one employer. When I tell her that that is just not how things are for a lot of people these days, that what I'm doing is what a dozen of my friends and acquaintances do, it goes right over her head. When I tell her that the money is erratic and yes, sometimes I'm really, really broke and struggle, but that I am happier and healthier and more stable in every way than I've ever been and set my own schedule and don't answer to anyone but myself, that all sounds like laziness and frivolity to her.

It was so nice, for the few months after Chris and I broke up, to have the mother I've always wanted. It's not easy to adjust to the idea that that was just her knowing her mother was dying and softening for a while. Apparently, we are back to the same damn thing that's broken my heart for the past 30+ years.

I prayed to my grandmother that if she could, if she could hear me, that she would let her daughter know that this is not helping me. That this behavior, which she believes is "support," and "love," only serves to drive me from her. My grandmother never approved of the way my mother treated me. None of my grandparents did. They saw the way she treated my sister as indulgent and over-protective, and her treatment of me unsupportive, often mean, and sometimes abusive. My sister has had her problems (conflict avoidance to a fault, a sniping brattiness here and there), but she has mostly outgrown that, and as a result, we've gotten closer (I, too, have obviously overcome several things as well), and she's less close to my mom.

In any case, one of my grandparents heard me. I had a nightmare, a dream I was in a car, something old, a sedan with a bench seat. My family may have been in the back, I can't recall. But I know my dad's father was driving. A country road, and the way the sky goes green just before a tornado. I used to dream about tornadoes all the time. In every one of these dreams, no one saved me, and I had to save everyone else. It was just my responsibility. Dreams about nuclear bombs, too, where I was the only one who seemed to know how to take care of everyone and save them from themselves. I used to have these nightmares two or three times a month. In the last few years, I almost never have them. I can't remember the last time.

Out of nowhere, a huge bank of black clouds turned into FOUR huge tornadoes in the fields just to the left of this gravel road. My grandfather just looked at me and smiled, and I smiled too, turning to the back seat to tell everyone it was going to be okay. Grandpa took a sharp right and drove right into the field on the other side of the road, toward blue skies. We both grinned the whole while. Once we were clear of the storm, I laughed and told him he could stop driving, that we could wait it out and go back. But he just kept smiling, and told me something to the effect of, "I am going to get you as far away from those storms as I can."

Putain de pluie. Putain de pluie. Putain de pluie. Fucking rain.

False alarm! I'm not moving to Uptown in two months.

Once March 1st drew near and I knew I had to make a decision about leaving this place, it made me more and more emotional to think about leaving. I sincerely got choked up at the very thought of packing up this beautiful place and trying to stuff me and my cats in a space that would easily be 500 square feet smaller, with no porches, and no back yard. Plus, I had my parents' dog Riley for a week around that time, and it became pretty clear to me that having a dog in the house helps my brains quite a lot.

My parents have wanted to give me one of their breeding dogs, Emma, for about a year, but it didn't seem feasible. After having Riley, I realize how easy it is to have an adult, super relaxed dog in the house, and how much it does for my well being.

So, this means a ton of bike rides to and from Uptown, through less than savory territory, but at least when I'm home, I'll be, truly, at home.

And, I won't have to move twice in one year, when I pack up for warmer climes in November.

The upcoming relocation situation

I'm leaving my beloved apartment May 1st when my lease is up. Publicly, and this is a solid portion of it, I've said it's because I won't have a car and biking from where I usually end up all summer (in and around Uptown) can be both tedious and dangerous late at night/when I've been drinking. There's a long stretch of road that's all near to Interstate exits and on ramps, and I never feel quite comfortable biking that 3/4 of a mile or so to my home in Near North.

It's also not near anything that I do frequently enjoy. The bars, restaurants and venues. I mean, it's "near" everything, nothing is more than fifteen minutes away, but little of it is within walking distance. If anything, it is exceptionally centrally located to all things, but not exactly close to anything. A conundrum of locale.

But, the bulk of why I want to leave is that this home has seen too much heartache. I have been looking around the last week and I am haunted by several scenes: crying myself to sleep in my bed after Andy, sitting around despondent after Thor (Thor, who I haven't spoken of, may not be necessary to speak of; it was a three month relationship. He lives in New Orleans. It didn't work, and didn't really work from the get-go. Honestly, though I fell hard and fast for him, I don't remember much that I really liked about him. I liked his style of dress. His calm demeanor. His swagger when he walked. That he was a carpenter, and a sculptor. I liked that he touched my elbow at intersections, a chivalrous gesture, to bade me not run like a ninny into traffic. But, I was not particularly attracted to him, and it just wasn't going to work out. So it didn't. We're friends now, everything is good.), and now, all of this with Chris.

I just want a fresh start. And simple comforts, like my favorite bar less than ten blocks away.