So I tried to write this post while I was in the midst of what I'm about to describe, but I couldn't wrap my brain around it. Then again, this week has been screwy on another level entirely, so that could be it to. That will be my next post.
Last weekend was a perfect example of karma. There was a time - when Ex and I were in the midst of fighting hell - that I didn't sleep in our home. Instead, I had to stay at a friend's house to cry myself to sleep. Last weekend, I returned the favor to a friend of mine. He and his partner of ten years were having major problems and I am one of the few people he knew in this fair city that had an apartment big enough to hold a long-term houseguest.
What made it awkward was that I've known this friend for years, but we're not very close. So I felt like I was trying way too hard to "entertain." Also, my friend is a Manhattan snob, and I live in a non-chi-chi part of Brooklyn. I had to stop myself for apologizing for my neighborhood...I like my neighborhood, damn it!
Overall it was fine. He did my dishes and cleaned my stove. He helped pay for groceries and bought us wine. He walked Ella when I couldn't. And I am grateful that I have an apartment large enough to offer someone a space in times of need. Karmically it felt good, even though it was a bit awkward. Ultimately though, I learned that my apartment is a big part of my mental health. I need my space to be my space. I like having houseguests, but ones with whom I feel truly comfortable.
So now my house is my own again...with a sink full of dishes.