In the end, the reason I decided to move was because of a shower curtain rod. There were lots of reasons I can list, now that the decision is made, for leaving my apartment. It was expensive. Especially given its (admittedly groovy) industrial, proletariat vibe. I never saw anyone in the halls and isolation is not good for my psyche. And with 40 foot ceilings, it was a challenge to heat in the long Michigan winters.
Thinking, thinking, thinking…
My lease is up this month and I have spent a fair amount of time standing in the middle of the “great room” and thinking, moving is just too hard. I have big, heavy pieces of furniture and live three flights up. There’s a bookcase so unwieldy, the previous movers threatened to leave it on the landing or cut it in pieces to make it fit into the narrow, third floor hallway. And there is the tedium of changing my address. I have an orchid. A new case of water unpacked in the refrigerator…
Two weeks ago, my shower rod fell in the middle of the night. Again. It is something I have battled my entire tenure. I don’t know whether the Restoration Hardware, linen curtain is too heavy or the rod not quite long enough, but it has never fit properly. I’ve padded the gap with paper handtowels folded into discreet squares. I have augmented those patches with damp toilet paper (the sides of the shower are slippery). And just when I think I’ve got it beat, it crashes at the most inconvenient time. And I find myself stuffing more, less discrete, wads of scrap paper into the breach and cursing my fate. Why? Why God? I might whimper, at a particularly vulnerable moment.
I never thought to buy a new shower rod, or even complain to the landlord. They supplied it after all, and every time my handiwork crashes, it takes a small swath of paint off the bathroom wall so they should want to fix it. Anyway, the last collapse was the final straw (rod?). I folded up the shower curtain, propped the curtain rod against the wall and put a towel down on the floor to catch the splatter when I take a shower. And like a bolt from above I thought to myself, it’s time to move.
When Something Small Leads You to Decide Something BIG
This is typical of how I make big decisions. All the good reasons for a life change might be clanging in stentorian obviousness and I will ignore them. Then, someone like Dee or David makes a simple comment, or a shower curtain falls and the way becomes clear.
Take how I got sober for example. After ten years of not-so-subtle prompts to quit – knocking out my teeth on a dive-bar countertop, getting divorced, falling off bar stools, the yen to drink in the morning, running short on cash, falling for another “inappropriate” boyfriend – I quit drinking for good, because my son Jonathan needed to be picked up from the airport. Go figure. He was getting in from England at midnight. Usually, I would have gotten my drinking in early, passed out, set an alarm and “sobered up” enough to go get him. When we got home I would have poured a nightcap.
Instead, I just didn’t drink. All day. And a bell went off – I thought to myself, this is enough – I’m done. For almost four years, that decision has stuck.
Is There a Moral to This Story Mare?
The moral to this story is that getting to the right decision is a good thing, no matter how long it takes. Better however, is the ability to read the signs. Change is never easy – especially when packing boxes or the pouring out of hooch is involved. But ignoring the BIG things is a form of self-punishment. In the NEW APARTMENT, I am going to be more aware of my surroundings, take better care of myself. Take note of the forewarnings.
And in the new apartment, if the faucet drips, or the shower curtain falls – boy oh boy, look out. I am loaded for self-care bear…
Today I’m not drinking because I am trying to get better about reading the signs…
How come you’re not drinking?
E2E – love from your 3 “moms”…