Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Kitchen Refrigerator

Finished all the leaves on my painting yesterday.

The kitchen smells today. Waiting for a new refrigerator to be delivered. My husband valiantly tried to save some foods, but alas, most of it is going bad. Therefore the smell.

I woke at 3;30am and had difficulty with the anxiety of the refrigerator delivery today. Fell asleep again, but the refrigerator was on my mind. They were supposed to call last night between 6 and 9pm and give us an estimated time of delivery. No call. So the store we bought the refrigerator from gave us the phone number of the delivery company and I left a message first thing as I woke at 8am. Someone nice called me back. He said he was glad I called, there was some ambiguity about our address. They are delivering the refrigerator at the end of the day and my husband should be here to help. I have a feeling that if I didn't call, the refrigerator would not have been scheduled. As it is, it seems they are tacking us on last thing.

My worries? Having a stranger in the house. Missing the delivery and not getting the refrigerator until next Tuesday, the next time the store will do deliveries. My husband measured carefully but maybe the refrigerator won't fit in the spot we have in our kitchen. And is it clear to this mixed up company that they are supposed to take away the old refrigerator? Mild worries, really. I'm especially happy that I talked to the delivery company on the phone - now they have made contact they want to call me while they are on their way to be certain everything falls into place.

We lost a lot of food. Frozen food that had to be thrown out. The dog yesterday got two meat meals. But for some reason she won't eat the chicken we have for her today. Is she full or has the meat already gone bad? Don't know. The condiments my husband hoped would last are going bad, I can smell them.

I know most people don't stress out over a refrigerator delivery, but I do. Must be the schizophrenia. I couldn't paint today nor take a shower. Worry drains me of energy. It will be a bad blow to our budget if we have to eat out until the refrigerator gets delivered next week, should we somehow miss the window of today. We live on a tight budget.

It amazes me how much our lives depends on a refrigerator.

It amazes me how much worry can diminish and derail me. This is a post onset of schizophrenia change in personality.

My husband says that every day I live with schizophrenia is a victory. Recently on the internet I've seen news about a woman who a year ago was pushed into the shallow end of a pool and broke her neck during her bachlorett party. She was paralyzed from the chest down. Now, a year later after a lot of rehabilitation she is marrying the man she had intended to before the accident. I told my husband about the story and he said "see, there are other nice guys out there. Her fiance loved her and stuck by her."

I tell my husband he is one in a million for loving me and living with the way my schizophrenia limits me. The illness now is a little bit more stronger since I have dropped the Seroquil and increased the Geodone. But slowly I am losing weight, and this is what I want. The times when my head won't work properly and I am reduced to lying in bed have increased. On most days though I still have that window of clear motivated thought in the morning in which I can paint. My therapist says that some schizophrenics don't even have that, so I'm lucky.

I have a friend who is bi-polar who used to be creative when she was manic, but now with the stabilizing medication she says she has lost all her desire to create. So she misses her mania because she misses making art! When I think of all the deliberation and dedication and determination it takes for me to create, I think she can still do it. Only before it was easy, with the energy of mania, and now it will be hard. There is little said by art enthusiasts about making art as it being a chore, or tedious, or mentally draining - all things I find making art to be at times for me. But usually the end product, the end vision of loveliness is worth it. I'm nearing the end of a painting, just a few more months and it will be done, and I'm going to have a party celebrating its completion. Just a luncheon for two elderly couples from church. I've never done that before, thrown a party for the completion of a painting. Of course when its done I'll post the picture here, and I can't say that its my best. But it certainly has been a very long haul. Its funny, the picture isn't religious based, but the violence and sexuality is very low key.

Anyway, elderly people have seen it all, heard it all, experienced it all, they are usually pretty tough. I've got a high opinion of elderly people. They are my heroes. I don't think young people are as much fun to talk to as old people. Young people are eye candy. But the old people I know really have their heads screwed on straight. They earn my regard with their wisdom. And old people usually couldn't care less that I have schizophrenia. They don't judge, or if they do judge, their criteria for what it means to be a person of worth is a little bit different from the younger crowd, who still have star dust in their eyes.

My husband and I have had a talk, what would I do if I didn't make art? I think I would probably take the dog up the mountain for a walk or take yoga classes. But in me is a work ethic that says you should try to do something meaningful and hard at least for a little time during your day. I'm a better person because I make art - its not great art, but its real art. Probably this is my ego talking. I've got a big ego. If it weren't for my high opinion of how I ought to be spending my days, I would love to take the dog up the mountain every day. Beautiful nature and my furry friend running around like a lunatic with her tongue hanging out.

Sometimes I think about being a poor, little old lady. My husband dead, me living on a small income. And I think that all I need is a small place in which to make my art. I'll try to make art until I drop dead. It won't matter how I age, even where I live. I wonder how people plan for the end of their lives. It makes the scary future seem better knowing that you will have something meaningful in your life to focus on until the end. Loss, poverty, loneliness, a body breaking down on you - all these things could happen. I suppose I anticipate the worst. And then I think that I will survive because I have art.

I didn't have art in my life today, but I'm hopeful that it will be in my life tomorrow, and the day after.

I've just talked to the mover who is driving the truck that my new refrigerator is on. I got a weird voicemail from the store that sold me the refrigerator. Had to call and check that the plan didn't hit a snag. The store told me the man delivering my refrigerator is the best man they have, and he reassured me that he is on his way.

So maybe tomorrow I can go out and buy milk.

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