My Space

I moved in. All by myself. With a borrowed van, a scrambled load of ikea kitchen items, a rolled up 70lb bed and craigslist frame, plus suitcases. And a car seat I might never use again. 

They had the place professionally cleaned but it’s obvious they lived in a war zone by how damaged the walls are. I don’t care if my sentences end in a preposition, ok?

So I’m home now. My home where the landlord ignores me and I don’t have to answer the doorbell if I don’t want to. <— preposition 

My home where I can walk around in my underwears and laugh too long at bad jokes. 

And I feel profound gratitude to be in a place that I truly consider my own private space, where I can have weird food in the fridge and hang out at Coney Island until midnight without someone else wondering where I went. Also where I panic at all hours of the night because I have no freaking clue how I’ll pay rent in a few weeks. 

Have mentioned how much I like my ward here? They have shown up this week with food, blankets (in the same color I was secretly wanting), toys, furniture and companionship. No one has said “Let me know if you need anything!” They just came. My friend Jessica knew someone moving and wanted to give away some furniture. Turns out she is a set designer/builder for the tv show Gotham (ok I’d never heard of it) and frequently brings home stuff the show doesn’t use anymore. Most of it’s crappy but at least there’s a story behind it :). I was deeply touched by her generosity. For all the unknowns and uncertainty still ahead, there have been some massive blessings and tender mercies. It’s undeniable and mostly it shows me we are in the right place. 

This was a hymn I played in church today:



“In the midst of affliction my table is spread.” I might have sobbed the whole way through relief society. 

Lucy is with Jacob this week. I wake up worrying about her at night. I slog through the day wondering if she’s ok. I wonder if I’ll ever be ok with these visits. 

The court battle lingers on. <— preposition 
He wanted to have a clause in the final paperwork that would allow him to leave the city but not me. I fought it. He fought back. I called it abuse and both sides have been silent for four days. I need this to end in the most desperate way but I can’t give up now and agree to live in NYC for the next 16 years? Who thinks it’s ok to make that kind of agreement?!?!

Comments

Megan said…
It's not ok! Seriously... not ok. I'm so glad the people there are taking care of you, Carrie! Sending light and love your way, my friend!
July 16, 2018 at 8:37 AM
Larri-Lea said…
Like Megan said, it's not o.k.! You have been bullied by a selfish husband and his paramour, and an incredibly mean lawyer. I've never heard of anything like it. You are right to fight for an equitable clause in the agreement. My heart aches for you, but am so proud of your inner strength to know right from wrong and stand up for it.
August 7, 2018 at 7:54 PM
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