Michelle's House of Horrors

When I was a child
I caught a fleeting glimpse
Out of the corner of my eye
I turned to look but it was gone
I cannot put my finger on it now
The child is grown
The dream is gone
I have become comfortably numb.
–Comfortably Numb/Pink Floyd

Being comfortable gets sort of a bad rap lately. You can definitely be stuck in a comfort zone that keeps you from progressing, but being comfortable doesn’t automatically mean being stagnant.

Comfortable can be cozy. Like cuddling up on the sofa with a book and a fuzzy blanket…or a movie and a snuggly man…or drinking coffee in a warm bed on a cold, cold morning.

Comfortable can mean at ease. Unafraid to say what you think, or act the way you want to. Not to act at all, but to be yourself. That kind of comfortable takes some work. It takes some willingness to confront the comfort zones of other people. It takes a willingness to allow people not to like you.

Of course, what seems to happen is that people like you all the more. You learn that all that being uncomfortable was just a waste of time.

I hope.

That’s what happens, right?

At some point?

I’m not going to keep feeling like I will never be good enough for anything or anyone? Because rationally, I know that isn’t true..but it sure as fuck isn’t what it feels like right now.

Sometimes I really wonder if it is worth all the effort that goes into not being comfortably numb. I really do. Perhaps this would be a good time for a big crying jag and a good night’s sleep.

Yeah. That is probably what I need.
Sleep.

In the morning everything will start over the way it always does.

In the dream, I was in the kitchen with my mother. It was her house, but not the one she lives in now. We were chatting and drinking wine while she cooked dinner. She heard something in the garage, and opened the door to see what trouble the cats were getting into.

I heard her say: “What are you doing? You need to leave now. You can’t just walk into people’s garages.”

Then she came back into the kitchen and stirred whatever was on the stove. I asked who she was talking to. She said she didn’t know, but she asked him to leave so he was gone now. I asked her to call 911 and went to see if he had really gone. He was still out there, just on the other side of the door between the garage and the house. I could hear him trying to open it.

He was trying to see inside the peep hole.

I told Mom to lock herself in the bedroom and call the police. I told her to run out her patio door if she heard anyone coming down the back hallway. She ran down the hall, dialing the phone.

The man in the garage told me very calmly that he just wanted to come in and use the phone and wouldn’t hurt us. They just had some work to do outside the house.

He had a saws-all in his hand, and I could see him starting to cut through the hinges on the door.

I ran out the back door, and into the street through the front gate. There was a whole crew in the driveway putting up scaffolding. Stringing cable. Going in and out of the garage with wires and hardware. They’d put down some sort of padded covering on the driveway.

I hid between some cars a little way up the street and called 911. They said no one else had called from Mom’s house. I tried to explain that she was in immediate danger, but they didn’t seem to believe me. I could hear the men at the house asking each other where ‘the other one’ was, so I ran further away, being careful to stay out of sight, and flagged down a police car.

I told him about what was happening, and he radioed in, but they also told him there had not been any calls from that address. I could not get him to help. He told me to get in the car and he would take me back to my Mother’s house.

For some reason, I felt that the police were part of a conspiracy. I ran. He drove towards my Mother’s house.

I woke up, and stayed awake for the rest of the night..

Cooking and company today.

Ashley arrived from Eugene and moved into the spare bedroom for…eh…who knows. Until she finds a place of her own. Or doesn’t and stays. Or whatever. We’ll see.

Before she got here, there was much cooking. I do this periodically on a Sunday. Cook several different meals at once, that is. I made chili, some meat for stew or stroganoff, soup, and a bunch of spicy tomato sauce for Shaksuka or pasta. Hopefully, I will feel like eating it this week. Often, doing the cooking sort of ruins the eating. As it did today. The food is in the fridge and freezer ready to be eaten another day.

Once I got the various food items in a state where they could be unattended, I started reading “the Haunting of Hill House” and am loving it so far. Very atmospheric and psychological.

I also had an unexpected invitation to drinks with one of my favorite people in the world. Which was great until it …just wasn’t anymore. The part where we were both there was fun. A lot of fun. The part where I was the only one there, not so much. I came home feeling a bit…I don’t even quite know. Processing the feeling, I guess. I think I don’t even quite want to admit to myself how I felt. Maybe I’ll figure it out after I sleep on it.

It’s making me uncomfortable to even think about it, so there’s…something. It’s a vaguely Fiona Apple-ish feeling.

Ultimately, I got to spend time with someone I enjoy and don’t get to see as often as I’d like. That’s all that really matters.

I will think about it another day, just like Scarlett O’Hara, because right this second I am sleepy.

It was a very good day.