I am feeling loss and lost.

Lost in my house. I can wander around it. The bathrooms are now meticulously neat and clean, like my daughter's room and her desk. The rest is a mess. I do not care. I care. Sometimes I care a little. But... my house is a universe like my mind where I can get lost when I am sad. There are cards and knitting projects and dusty boxes of my parents' papers and books and books and books and art supplies and cards for writing letters the old way, sending them snail mail, to the receiver's vast surprise.

I don't think you mean for me to feel this way consciously. But think of your mother wandering through the house when your father left. You were three and she left you with your brothers. She was no longer there at night, she worked and never kept up. Beaten down, sad, loss and lost and the house a mess and your brothers angry. Do you create it over and over expecting women to find a solution? Or to kill you? To have them angry? Or do you hope to feel as your father did? You never saw him again, loss and lost. You stayed when your wife died and raised two sons, is this revenge upon the world for you being tied down and responsible and loss and lost? If so, why do you choose me to be your revenge, to bear the grief and anger and loss?

I am safe in my mind always. My mind is a jewel box, a house with many rooms, there are files and subfiles and subsubsubfiles and I rarely let anyone see any of it. My children know and they learned to hide their minds, to pass, as my son says. My house reflects my mind, complex and layered and deep and things lying around that I might play with someday or not. I do not want people in my mind or house and so the layers and mess protect me.

You too have a complex mind. But you are not aware. You have not done the work to face your own deeps, to dive, to bring the heavy treasure to consciousness. Some people never do. It is a choice. You've had that chance and refused it, at least with me. You're hurting me so I no longer care. Loss and lost. Goodbye.

from another year than this