2020




Wednesday January 29


No Cilla at work today; she's attending to her brother's funeral preparations.  They've already held several viewings for him, more than the usual number, due to public demand.  Why the demand?  From what I understand, he was fairly well known in the area where he lived and quite well-liked.  Married, studying to be a pastor, and the kind of young man you would expect to do the kind of thing he did, which was to tackle a robber in order to protect his fellow victims.  He died a good death, was my weak offering to Cilla.  He's still dead.

Had words with the realtor today.  They've done 3 viewings recently:  one on Saturday, one on Sunday, one today.  I hate it; when I come home at night from work it's as if I can still feel the presence of strangers.  They wanted to do another viewing tomorrow (my day off) but I said no and would not yield.  It's only for ten minutes! the realtor said, her tone a mixture of pleading and irritation.  How would you like it, I retorted, if strangers came traipsing through your home for only ten minutes.  They even called my landlord and tried to get him to force me; fortunately he backed me up.  So I have a day to recover.

I'll need to start looking to see what other apts might be available.  I'd better start doing that tomorrow.  It feels creepy living here now.  I am unnerved.




Monday February 10


I'm now being told that the property has provisionally been sold; they're waiting for the bank to give final approval.  I've also been told – I hope it's true – that the new landlord wants me to remain on as a tenant, and at the same rent.  Apparently he wants to be sure of having a set amount of money coming in every month.  So, bearing in mind that I know nothing about what the new landlord might be like, or how invasive he might be, there's one load off my mind.

Also, Cilla no longer works at the store.  She left for lunch on Saturday and never came back.  I found a batch of notes she'd written to various people, explaining what she'd done.  Mine said that she was leaving because she was still finding it hard dealing with her brother's death and needed time to sort all that out.  And that although we'd had our clashes she still thought well of me, and especially appreciated my giving her a ride home the day her brother got shot.




Thursday February 20


I have discovered that I am less frail than I used to believe myself to be.  With that discovery some portion of anxiety fades.  I remember when, years ago, I suffered from a kind of constant background depression.  Sometimes it came closer, sometimes it occupied a larger part of my mind – and then one day, I noticed that it'd gone.  I can't say how or why; it just . . . went away.  But over the years it's been replaced with anxiety, an anxiety I wake up to every day and go to sleep with every night.  It's caused by too much stress at work, it's caused by dissatisfaction with the world of humans, it's caused by the vicissitudes of living, it's caused by a fear of my mortality . . .  It could be, and probably is, caused by many things.  But I am not as frail as I sometimes think I am, nor are the others around me.  Not my parents, not my coworkers, not my friends, not my cats.  If it's true that we all at times suffer, are frightened, are in crisis, it's also true that we all, until the point of death, survive the suffering; we are all tougher than I give us credit for.  And with that thought, perhaps, anxiety lessens . . .



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