Life for me seems to consist of a series of delays. Clearly the Universe has its own timeline. After my cat died, I thought, okay, now I can move to a house share while I wait for my mother to die. Then Covid-19 came along, and I was like, no, probably not a good time to have a roommate. So I stayed in the Love Shack and began the process of downsizing—jettisoning books, scanning drawings, shredding journals, getting ready for the move I knew would be coming. Then my mother had to move from a nursing home to a foster care home. That was an ordeal for sure, but I learned moving during Covid can be done. Then three months later, Mom died, and I was like, okay, maybe now I can begin the final countdown toward a move to warmer climes.
Snow ploughs came through a few times, followed by gravel trucks. The main road is mostly clear. Drivers don't seem fazed as they merrily attempt to park on the piles of dirty snow on either side of the road. However, the unthinkable happened on Friday: Bus service, MAX service, and streetcar service—in other words all public transit—was shut down across the entire Portland metro. Has that ever happened? Apparently not. This would not be a good time to be carless.
Speaking of cars, I think I have one, somewhere. It's buried on a side street about two hundred yards away from home. I don't feel like risking my neck on treacherous pavement to go see if it has been shredded by a snow plough.
Today I threw handfuls of birdseed out the front door and back door and watched as little birds came by for a snack. I love animals. I confess, I spend an inordinate amount of time watching videos of animals being rescued by kind humans (who always happen to have a video camera handy, for some suspicious reason). I despise the algorithms that know me so well, even if I click on nothing. The more videos I watch, the more appear in my feed. Curses! I've seen the deer swimming in circles with a paint can on its head. I've seen sea turtles, dolphins, and whales trapped in fishing nets. I've seen two fighting elk stuck in a wire fence. I've seen a sloth stuck on a cold, hard rock half-submerged in a river (a real nail-biter, that one). I've seen myriad dogs rescued from various terrible situations, rushing rivers, busy highways, you name it. I've seen a horse mired in a mud pit and a donkey running in frantic circles at the bottom of a cone-shaped well. What idiot community would build such a thing, impossible to climb out of, if not to trap animals? I despair. I'm trapped watching humans rescue desperate trapped animals. I'm trying to rescue myself by watching social media. You can imagine how well that is going.
I sit at my computer with my feet on my Tupperware bug-out bin. I nestle my feet next to three grubby microwaved socks filled with dry rice. I hardly move, except to reheat the socks in the microwave. There is no heat in the kitchen or bathroom. I spend as little time in these rooms as possible. Occasionally I spray a solution of water and bleach on the cracks in the ceiling and in the empty cupboards to keep the black mold at a tolerable level. Along the walls in each room, I have stacked the boxes I plan to take with me. I forget what is in them now. Maybe I will just leave them all behind. Pack a bug-out bag, dig my car out of the snow, and head south.
Well, I can dream. Another delay is on the horizon. It seems I might be the person called upon to manage the closing of our mother's estate. Of course, I will accept. I love my family. I live to serve. However, this is not how I pictured freedom, interfacing with lawyers and filling out paperwork. Looks like freedom has been delayed a little longer. Oh well. It doesn't matter what happens to me now. I did my job, and I did the best job I could. Now she's gone. I surrender to the whims of the Universe.
