On the Fence

If I am really practicing I instantly become aware of how much time I spend in spaces of discontent. Complaining either out loud or in my head is a predominant state of mind.

I am aware that I am aging. Yesterday I gazed at my face and when I pulled my skin back like they do for a face lift, I saw youth return. When I released my skin it fell blandly back into its gravitational sag.The tone is slipping away. I've acquired the middle aged woman's waddle under my chin.

I yearn for a certain grace, a sense of place that is uncluttered, ordered. I'm aware of how I could be more enthusiastic about taking charge of creating order in this house under construction, but I prefer, -I choose to sit and watch the ducks (no blue herons this morning), browse the internet, write a little, dream about the home I want to live in.

I want to blame PTT. What I really want is for him to be different.

And yet, the truth is that I am in this situation because I do not choose to leave it or change it. I'm on the fence.  Am I just chasing after the illusion of the future? My wise mind would suggest yes. My wise mind would suggest no.

I'm not a carpenter. I don't have the resources to take over the construction of the house. Patience is the virtue that is always in my face. I want to take over, order him to do the work that I want done and force him to do it in my time frame. I don't feel very Buddha like. I feel suppressed anger and resentment. I do not like living in a house without out storage, without a functioning kitchen sink, without a bathroom sink, with stairs half finished, a bathtub thats not hooked up, no shower door, no kitchen cabinets, no kitchen counters, no place to hang clothes, no living room furniture. I feel frustrated that I can't manage the disposable income we have coming in. I hate the uncertainty of every decision we make together. I hate knowing that I really and truly cannot count on him to do anything that he states that he will do.

So, what to do. Move out? Make peace?
Sigh.