I can feel change coming, taste it like dust and jasmine on my tongue, but I can’t work out the direction, or what it will mean, or how it will cause bits of me to crumble away and reveal the pink and twitchy bits I try to hide. From everyone.
Change is coming, and I’ve been sniffing the air, trying to identify which area it’s going to bite first. There’s a couple of contenders. One scares me more than the others though.
For some time now I’ve been recognising things I like, enjoy or love about being single.
I can have my chair, my lamp, my pillow the exact way I want without having/wanting/needing to be considerate of another person’s preferences.
I take huge amounts of delight in having no idea of which way I’ll be facing when I wake up. Some mornings I’m neatly on one side of the bed, the other half barely interrupted with a bump of linen. Other mornings the bed is a mountain range after avalanche, pillows clinging desperately to the side, sheets pulled free and I’m a monster starfish claiming sovereignty over every thread and surface. The headboard is just a suggestion, a signpost, not a magnet or alignment.
The household budget is mine. I can spend, save, splurge and systematically allocate however I see fit, and not have to juggle anybody else’s spending amid the columns and tallies.
I can pick and watch whichever weird and wonderful movie strikes my fancy, or funny bone, or fickle mood. I can watch the same move over and again, or just bits of it, and watch according to my timetable and wants.
I choose the groceries I buy, and don’t have to buy or cook food I dislike. I can read as late or as early as I want, wear my favourite raggedy shirt, have the entire wardrobe to myself.
I haven’t had a brain cramp working out what to get my monster/mother-in-law for her birthday or Christmas “From us” and all the emotional damages that would be loaded with it. I haven’t had to sit through barbed conversations at “family” dinners, or carefully word sentences dodging offences and verboten subjects.
I have no need to look good for anyone but me. Shaving my legs is a love note to myself, wrapped in smooth skin and moisturiser. Putting on makeup is an in-joke between me and the woman poking out her tongue half a breath away.
I can make decisions and just GO, no discussion necessary or negotiation required. What I say goes with the boyos, with no other power to present their case to. (In this instance God doesn’t count – we have established cases and rules concerning this in our household.)
I don’t have to wait ten minutes to use the already vacant toilet, or fight for the doona, or be irritated by the gnats born of sharing a bed and life and forever with another annoying, bewildering, frustrating individual.
Change is coming. I can feel it like a nosebleed, a muted weather warning, a burnt finger, a muttered curse. I can fight it – whichever form it takes, or whatever chunk of my life ends up in its jaws – I could be fearsome, all spit and vinegar. Or I could dance, hold onto the ebb and shadows and whirl into the new. Change is coming.
Fight or flight. Change.
Do you sometimes know when life is going to change for you? Have you ever had a prompting or premonition that life was about to get very “interesting”? How do you react to change? What is a part of your life that you are appreciating, enjoying, loving right now?