Speaking From The Heart

Speaking from the heart is something I can't do today. I've been denied access. Does that ever happen to anyone else? I'm not sure why it happens, but today, I am not welcome inside.

Maybe because yesterday, I told my heart I didn't like it. I told it it had messed up (only I didn't use a word as nice as that one.) Of course, today I realize that it was me that messed up, not my heart. I must have messed up listening to it, or interpreting what I heard. 'Cause hearts don't mess up do they?

Anyway, the powers that be that guide the heart didn't quite strike me with lightning for my blasphemy, but they're teaching me a little (or a huge) lesson. Today I have a headache - the kind that make you feel a little dizzy and like all you want to do is sleep - and no access to the inner sanctum.

Not that that's necessarily a bad thing. I mean, after all, I'm pissed at it anyway, right?

So...I'll show it! I'm pouring diet coke down my throat as quickly as I can. I don't know for sure (okay, at all) how it gets from down my throat to up in my head, but I hope it hurries on its way. That'll take that headache out with such force it won't know what hit it. Either that or I'm just going to be making a lot trips downstairs from my office to use the under construction room with a bath in it.

It was there, this month, that I learned how to use a hammer drill. (First I learned what one was.) And I've used this tool that shoots real 22 caliber bullets to put screws in cement block which is what this beautiful old cottage is made of. And I also mastered two different kinds of nail guns that work off an air compressor - one of the guns is automatically shooting. Now those put some story ideas in the head. (Maybe that's why it's hurting?)

The bathroom has now become attached to the master bedroom. (We blew a hole in the cement block wall between the two.) Actually, there was no blowing involved. It was backbreaking work breaking through one block at a time so the house didn't fall down on us. But the doorway that has arrived is beautiful! I wasn't sure what my husband was doing when he started buying way too many boards and measuring and having me help him saw. (Until it got too cold out there and he was one his own!) I mean, did he see that little space we had to work with? If we put up all these boards there was no way even I would fit through that opening. But slowly, as I trusted and worked, I saw this artfully constructed, true to the time period of the house, doorway appear. Amazing, really. Gives a whole new meaning to doorways. Until this point, I've always taken them for granted. You find them and walk through them. Done. Now, when I'm sitting around daydreaming, I'm noticing the framing on everything, windows, doors, archways.

Next we're tackling the vanities (we're putting in double sinks) and then a new and moved other necessary bathroom piece, and ceramic tile on the floor. The bath - a very old cast iron tub that is in remarkably good shape - is staying right where it is! But might be refinished, if I ever get up the guts and energy and time to use the stuff we bought to do that.

So maybe this is what happened to my heart. I became too guylike and daydream about framing, instead of about love and being happy.

Nah, I don't think so. I think I'm in the doghouse. (Ha ha! Now here was a freudian slip. When I typed doghouse it came out godhouse.) I know it's up to me. I have to make peace with my heart. And, knowing me, I'll get around to it. It let me down and hurt me a lot, but without it, I can't experience the joy. Isn't that just like life? For every bad there is a good? Sometimes I hate that.

Yeah, yeah, I know. For every good there is a bad, too. And I gotta take it just like everyone else. But I don't have to like it.

Well, the diet coke's working. Sort of. To go with the rest of my liquid diet of orange juice and cranberry juice. There's V8 downstairs, too - thanks to Suz and her blasted post that now makes me drink that horrid stuff.

And you know, the thing about love is, it's not real when it's only there if times are good. Hell, like and lust and illusion can do that. Love is only real if it's there, to sit with you, when you aren't perfect, or even slightly imperfect. It's real when it's there to sit with you when you are out of your head with panic or pain, even if you shouldn't be. It's there when you're a mess and ugly and screaming to be heard. It holds you and comforts you simply because it can't not.

Unless, of course, you can't access your heart. So, here's a weird one. Anyone got any clue how to make peace with one's own heart? Hurry on down with suggestions. My headache's roaring again.