The chiropractor was ok. As, it turns out, I was worse off than I realized, alignment wise. I should probably go back soon.

Along with the minor house updates that Iíve been doing this spring, Iím also installing new carpet in the living room, on the stairs and in the upstairs hall.

This year, it seems like Iíve gone into a nesting phase, especially in recent months. Itís not over board, as nesting for me equals the normal amount of care any person takes with their home. It just so happens that for the past 8 years or so that Iíve been in that house, I never did much more than treat it like I was staying for a couple of months. I only bought the place because if a person needs to write a monthly check, anyway, it seems prudent to do so in such a way that thereís a chance that the money might come back some day.

I wasnít sure whether or not I was up for the responsibility of being a home owner, as a new divorcee, at the time, but I muddled through, somehow.

Iím sure my indifference to home decorating saved me quite a bit of money and pain, over the years.

So, after 8 years of a butt-ugly floor, Adam has finally convinced me to get carpet. Heís been mentioning it since he was originally introduced to my hideous floor three years ago.

I enjoy comfort and beauty as much as the next person, but putting down roots has always been a foreign concept to me. I think the time that I was most content with my home life was when I could come home to a Spartan little studio apartment, lock the doors, sit on the floor (because I had no furniture) and not only know that I could shut out the world, but also know that the world had no interest in coming in, either, since I had nothing of value.

I still miss that feeling. Iíve even suggested to Adam that my ideal living situation would be for us to have two small apartments, next door to each other, and that we would just visit each other most days. I would keep mine as clean and Spartan as I wanted, and he could be as messy and pack-ratty as he wanted.

Thatís not to say that Iím not excited to get new carpet. I like the idea. I agree that it will dramatically improve the aesthetics of the place.

Tonight, weíll go to dinner, and then make another stop at Ikea.

I have ideas for a couple of more things that Iíd like to work on, and since weíre supposed to get rain, this weekend, I figured that it would be a nice to have some indoor projects.

Iím putting up new curtains across the four large windows that line the front wall of the bedroom. Iíd like to put up two, a thicker one, that will block light, when necessary, and a sheer one, for when I want light to come in, but donít want to look at the ugly windows and frames.

On a completely unrelated note, this week, I was starting to feel like I was becoming unhinged, but then I realized that Iím always a little bit unhinged. I fluctuate between different forms of crazy, and whenever a new wave comes along, Iím always shocked at my own insanity.

Itís not like I do anything especially crazy, but itís just a feeling, you know? I definitely do things that might be categorized as ďirrationalĒ or ďillogicalĒ but Iím tired of the American idea that, in order to be valid, something must be logical. Or, that anything that defies logic is somehow inferior.

When I say that, I donít mean that we should take our various personal faiths, throw out all forms of fair argument, and fight each other even more. I mean Iíd like to see us be more tolerant of various viewpoints, including our own. How often do we ignore our own feelings or rituals because it doesnít ďsound rightĒ in our current cultural climate?

I donít know why I was thinking about that, just now, other than to mention the fact that I donít have all that much faith in the ďanalyticalĒ world view, anymore. What is the point of those walls, anyway?

But, when I say that I feel crazy, I donít mean that I feel irrational. Itís more like I donít recognize myself.

Maybe I just need more time to sit down and sort through various thoughts and emotions.

Recently, Iíve been listening to an audiobook called I Think I Love You. Itís a novel that takes place in the Ď70s, about a teen girlís obsession with David Cassidy. Whenever I see video of screaming teeny-boppers from any era, I have difficulty relating. The phenomenon of teen girl obsession with a celebrity is almost as much of a mystery to me as it is to any man.

So, I had no idea that Iíd actually find myself relating to the girl. I never obsessed over a particular celebrity. Sure, I liked the teen idols from my era, but my desire was nothing compared to some of my friends.

That doesnít mean that I didnít obsess. I just didnít obsess over celebrities. Iím trying to think back now, what did I obsess about? I remember having the talent for the creepy, almost serial-killer-like level of intense focus, that all teen girls have, but I just donít remember the details.

Perhaps itís done something to slowly chip away at my walls, my perceptions of who I am, and thatís why Iíve been having these thoughts.

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Friday, Jun. 10, 2011 at 5:04 PM