My stomach is still rumbling. My eyes are tired. My mind still busy. I woke up with excitement for the day. Had a coffee and sat down to log onto my virtual screening with CAMH. still trying to figure out my life. still fifty-three years old. still lost. still searching. I turned on my computer and clicked on the link for my meeting. nothing happened. nothing worked. I asked my wife to help me and she tried to no success. I wonder how people with severe mental illness manage. My problems pale in comparison to some and are monumental to others. such is life. such is life in a pandemic. such is life in a pandemic with failed leaders at the top and smart citizens stuck in limbo as a result of poor planning skills and poor leadership skills. the pandemic is real. the response has been sad and pathetic.
Anyway, I digress. I always digress. But now I’m back. My computer does not seem fit for zoom calls and web meetings. I have had two failed meetings in the last week. Let’s hope next week is better. Now I sit at my computer after a failed CAMH meeting and a two hour walk with my dog. he is sleeping at my feet as I drink a coffee and attempt to write. I guess I am writing so there is no attempt. I AM WRITING.
Back to the Heights Drive. the first act of my life is set in The Heights Drive. A townhouse complex filled with recent immigrants from Britain. Rows and rows of townhouses to go along with a few apartment buildings and an outdoor swimming pool. As a kid I thought that this place was the best. When I drive by it now it is rundown and old and dirty. I wonder if the pool is still functioning. I wonder if the old scary Superintendent is still there. if she is she would probably be one hundred and twenty-five years old. She’s probably dead. Memories. lots of great memories. Lots of sad memories. Lots of scary memories. the bad usually outweigh the good but why? I want to find out why? Am I doomed for failure? Is my mindset negative? Can I change my mindset? Can we change? can we really change? I continue to try. i continue to cry.
Back to The Heights Drive. The first act. After our successful breaking of the old scary Superintendent’s window Merrick and I gained some confidence. lost some fear. we were now looking for more excitement. we were now looking for more fun. kick the can. hide and seek. road hockey. soccer. football. hockey cards. throwing the Indian Rubber Ball against the wall. playing on the swings. playing in the nearby creek. childhood fun. childhood friends. free and fearless. happy and free. few rules. few fears. few problems. and when there were few problems we did our best to create them. nothing has changed. nothing ever changes.
Merrick and I met up with each other around nine am but time was never important back then. there may have been someone else with us but my mind is not a hundred percent. so Merrick and I met up and we ran around our complex. playing in the sun. it was hot. i remember it was hot. it was the summer. i remember it was the summer. we ran and ran. we played and played. we were about to go to my house for lunch when we looked inside the laundromat that was for our housing complex. it was on the ground floor and it was small and usually dirty. yellow boring walls and dirty floors. but this time it was different. it had a fresh paint smell. there were cream coloured tarps on the floor with paint drops on them. there were open cans of blue paint. there were open cans of yellow paint. the professional painters were not there. they must have been on lunch. Merrick and I walked inside and looked around. we didn’t see anyone. we both grabbed a can of open paint and picked up a roller and started painting the freshly painted walls. we were screaming and laughing. big smiles on our faces. we painted them blue and yellow and then spilled paint all over the floor and then threw paint on the walls and then ran. we always ran. Screaming. Yelling. Excitement. FEAR. ALWAYS EXCITEMENT. ALWAYS FEAR. do they go hand in hand? Merrick ran one way and me the other. I ran straight home. I always ran straight home. I looked out the front window of our house and could see across the parking lot to front entrance of the laundromat. I saw some people mingling around. I saw two men dressed in painting clothes. There was a commotion. I was scared.
“What’s going on Christie?” my Nana asked.
“Oh nothing.” I responded.
It was always nothing.
“Did you want some lunch?”
“Yes please.”
My Nana cooked me a grilled cheese sandwich. I think. I am guessing. Maybe it wasn’t a grilled cheese. But I seem to remember a lot of grilled cheese sandwiches.
“I wonder what’s going on at the laundromat?” said my Nana.
“Why?” I answered.
“There seems to be some sort of commotion. Maybe someone died.”
And with that my Nana continued to cook. I watched tv. I wonder where Merrick went.
I saw Merrick the next day and we never spoke about the laundromat. we walked right by it and never looked in. we were so present in those days. we lived in the moment. so free. so fun. so happy.
life was simple.
notanotherphony. 