Beginning To Feel At Home

I want to thank all the people who comment in my blog. Thanks for your encouragement, and your advice, it means a lot. Someone who posted anonymously explained a math problem that I'd been struggling over for days, and because of this help, I was able to finally understand, and finish that section. Others have offered the advice that I move to a town away from x, which I appreciate, and agree with. I plan to move as soon as I get my schooling done - hopefully sometime this coming winter. I plan to leave this town entirely when I make this move, but need to figure out where I would go, whether I would even stay on the Island, or move back to the mainland where I originally come from. I prefer to be finished with schooling first, so that I can concentrate on finding a place to live, and a suitable job ... a better job than dishwashing because I will have better schooling under my belt (that thought is so so so exciting!)

Summery weather is here in B.C. It won't last, it never does, and when it goes, it might not return for months. But for now I can go out in a sundress and sandals. I can sit outside the library and listen to a faltering trombone player who should have practiced a little bit more before venturing out. He's crosslegged on the curb, eyes fixed on the pavement as he concentrates. The librarians know me by now - I'm the lady who borrows books on Shakespear and math, who always seems to owe a dollar or two for overdue books. Who often comes to them for help in finding a book that, when they lead her to the correct isle, is right there in plain view.

The makeup consultant at the drugstore up the street from the library, knows me as the woman who buys unlikely makeup and bird feather false eyelashes, to be used in photography. The video store clerk; a friendly, but odd looking woman with obvious false teeth and a very low tolerance for children, has come to know me recently, as the lady who haunts the foreign film section. At the new pet store, the elfin man with wig-like, obviously dyed black hair, recognises me as a fellow goldfish enthusiast. He leads me to the back room where he proudly describes his new techinique in keeping fish healthy through vitamin therapy. He's offered to help in finding a home for my weather loach, who is desperately lonely and depressed now that Edith is gone. The loach will be offered free to an animal lover who can prove they have a tank with other fish that will be compatible. If I don't find a home for the loach, I will find him a companion. The elfin man has ordered in some newts and aquatic frogs - I will buy one of these as a new friend for my lonesome pet.

I don't have any friends here, and honestly, I'm not looking to make any social connections, but I have discovered these few decent people in this neighbourhood. Nice, polite people who make me feel less alone, because they're a little bit more like me than the rest of the citizens of this town. It's homey to walk into a store and be greeted with familiarity. It helps to bring me out of my shell ever so slightly.

I have also joined a relaxation therapy class that meets every thursday. There are about 20 members - mostly old, fat ladies who suffer from crippling arthritis, or cancer, or other ailments. They come to the class to escape their pain. There is one man in the group - a thin man with dirty socks, who speaks softly about the healing benefits of soy products. He massaged my feet today, though I didn't know it was him until he told me later. For 45 minutes during these classes, we all lay on mats on the floor, and listen as a tape plays soft music, and a soothing voice tells us to breathe, and to relax different parts of our bodies, and to let everything sail away. During this, as we become more and more submerged in this extreme relaxation, a handful of women, and this one man I mentioned, go around offering healing touch to our legs and feet. We don't normally know who massaged us, we keep our eyes closed as we drift between a state of wakefullness and sleep. The healing touch people are just suddenly there, taking our feet one at a time and massaging. Then they're gone. I don't know any of these people, yet they're kind enough to offer me advice on pain relief (I have I.B.D.). They put aside their own searing pain for a moment, to sympathise with me over mine, which is really insignificant compared to theirs. The thin man massaged my feet because he heard me say I suffer from similar pain to his. So I learned something today - the feet are connected to the stomach (or something), and I can massage my own feet in this special way when I'm in pain.

And so I'm getting to feel at home in this neighbourhood at last. It isn't the kind of 'at home' that makes me want to stay. I have no roots, or real connections, but it's nice, still, and helps me feel like a person of value. Funny that just as I begin to feel more comfortable, I'm talking about leaving. But that doesn't bother me either. I know now that I will probably find the same feeling in my new neighbourhood, wherever that may be.

Right now I'm at my desk beside the open porch window, in my apartment livingroom. I hear traffic, and kids shouting, and my neighbours talking quietly. The sun is beginning to set on this hot spring day, people are drowsy and content. I sat for a while on my porch, reading a book, and glancing at the people passing below. I made some green pepper soup. I bought a new dress today - a little brown minidress with a tie in back, the kind you just slip on over your head. I'm signed into my little chatroom in the hope that my great friend will join me there. We're learning more and more each day, about creating beautiful art through photography. At the close of this day, around 2 am, I will go to my bed and sink into the mattress that is so soft, it's like floating in the bathtub. My body disappears at least three inches below the surface, as the old springs sag in just the right way.

I'm blissful and content.