Art Quiltlet: 39/52

"Fraying," art quiltlet at amyhoodarts.com

“Fraying”

This is not at all subtle. I used part of an old pair of jeans with a hole in the knee, a scrap of Japanese cotton, and some running stitch. This one is inspired purely by how I feel.

I don’t like where I live. Not the house itself, which is old. I don’t care about cosmetics, although it should have gotten a deep cleaning before being rented out, and it didn’t. I do care about the ancient plumbing that hasn’t had to deal with more than two elderly people in decades. It’s one thing after another. I don’t like where I live geographically either. It’s been well over a year so I don’t think that’s going to change. It is what it is.

I’m tired all the time. That’s the schedule; it is what it is, too. I’m looking at October with a whole lot of hell no. My 12yo needs his wisdom teeth out under general anesthesia because one of them is tangled with a molar, which can’t erupt. He’s never had surgery before. He’s anxious. I’m anxious because I’m missing the pediatrician who actually knew us versus the factory version we’re stuck with down here. It’s a crapshoot whether I get the correct information when I call, and my kids have never seen the same doctor twice, and they don’t know us at all. A week after the surgery, my husband goes away for a week. He keeps texting me dates from work as he schedules more travel. I hate those texts. My daughter would like to have a birthday party with friends. I would like that too, especially since her father will be away for her birthday. But this house is way too small, with dodgy plumbing. She was in tears. It’s just one more thing.

I swear I can feel my molars, especially on the left side, getting shorter as I clench my jaw so hard it practically spasms. I could use a dentist, but very few take our insurance and I haven’t found one yet. Heck, I could use a therapist too I suppose, but who has the energy to try to find one? Every attempt has ended badly, and very few of them take insurance, too. It is what it is. I’d hoped things would be easier here after this long, and I guess in some ways they are. I don’t get lost going to the grocery store. I’m involved in some activities, some local, some father away. My kids are settled in. I have the best next door neighbor ever (until we find a house we can afford to buy that doesn’t have dodgy plumbing, and we move). But in other essential ways it’s still so hard, hard in ways that just exhaust me.

Fraying. Not torn, not irreparable, but definitely fraying.