I don't think I was cut out to live a lonely existence. I'm not the type to choose "hermit" as a profession. For all my social awkwardness (which is fairly significant), I do try to keep myself open to new people, whose experiences are different than mine. I want to grow, learn, and keep blurring the lines. It hasn't always gone smoothly for me. I have been burned, and I have made mistakes that I can't always walk back. But I keep trying. So I have put myself out there again, taking a risk I swore years ago that I was done with, and I am in negotiations to get a temporary roommate. This will serve to help out a friend and to keep the house from feeling so quiet and empty of human conversation. My friend is unhappy where she is, and I have a space that has more positive energy and acceptance than her current situation. The big question is do I have enough physical space to fit her and the dog and furniture that comes with her? We should know in a few days if it's going to proceed. If so, I am going to be making a lot of trips to the consignment shop to clear out some closets and the spare bedroom.
The day before my friend called, I took a call from the animal shelter. They were willing to take a chance on me after the disastrous neonatal kitten experience. So I am trying one more time to foster. This time, the kitten--singular--is a little older. She is between three and four weeks old, big enough to feed herself soft food, to regulate her own body temperature, and to use a litter box. Things are going so much better than the last time. So far getting a clear photograph of her has proved as elusive as getting one of Bigfoot. I will discuss her more in future days, as her portfolio grows. For now, I'm working on letting her find her way around the big cats, now that she is proving to be healthy and spunky. The big, clumsy dogs watch through the deck windows, wishing they could play with her too. My professional eater dog looks at her with dreamy eyes, like she thinks she could be an excellent nanny to the baby.
While my potential roommate and I walked around the house, looking at it critically for spacial and logistical details, I noticed the large shefflera I keep by the front window had an arrowhead growing up through it. For years, the arrowhead struggled to stay alive, and suddenly, without my notice, it has taken off into a blended space. On the opposite side of that window, I have a sweet potato vine that came back from last year, and is wrapping itself around the arm of my adirondack chair and up through a Boston fern. And a few feet away, a potted climbing rose that was recently placed under a crape myrtle is now shooting up, tangling in the tall branches. I suppose there is no segment of my life where anything stays in neat, tidy, separate boxes. Ma vie, sans frontieres.
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