Off the Couch

Is this a first in my flighty life? I cannae remember a single time that I have returned to one of my abandoned projects. I feel a need to add that I donae believe any project is ever finished. There is always something else which can be improved, but there comes a time when you need to call it good enough and move on to whatever is next.

I pulled myself off the couch this morning and set out to clear out the space I have marked for the storage of the lab equipment. Been *Dancing with the Duhs* throughout the modest activity. Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda. . .

This *shoulda* been maintained. . .

That *coulda* been done by now. . .

Something else *woulda* been if. . .

The effect I feel this morning is similar to the domestic waters closing over my head when I return to the homestead. Similar, but different by the bodies of maternal expectations. The family ownership of this unloved property is most of the domestic connection I feel here. Hubs is several steps more approachable a connection than his father was, but his motivations and goals seem closer to his father's than the poet I so love. He looks like a man trying to prove himself to his execu-daddy than a poet following his heart. Again, I hesitate to speak a poet's summary, but I believe Hubs sees this, also, and simply needs time to work through ^it^ at his own pace. Fair enough. It's allot to process. The co-owners on the other side of the in-law hyphen are as mysterious and inaccessible as ever. From what has been relayed to me through Hubs, their interest in this property seems to be purely investment value. Their busy lives are solidly tied to the Houston metroplex some 6 or 8 hours to the Southeast of here.

The Dancing with the Duhs tells me I haven't fully let go of the projects I was working when I launched out of here in March 2017. Are those feelings of rejection agitating on the edge of the acceptance? It helps that Hubs has validated those feeling of rejection. He admits that his reaction to the "Co-owner Agreement" email was a panic attack which caused him to bump me off the project playing court while he hogged the ball. He is still feeling the need to hog the ball as he and his brother process the yaddahs connected to the deaths of their parents. I often believe parental bonds make a much more complex weave en absentia than when they are present.

I'm still not feeling too fit. The couch calls. . . More sleep processing?