Maid Therapy (and a request for assignments!)

[Eliza Hodgkins 1812]

I want to be the kind of person whose apartment is worthy of an ApartmentTherapy.com nod. Instead, I'm becoming someone Ellen Hovde and Albert Maysle might want to film. Since my father passed away, the one place I allow myself to wallow is at home alone. Sadly, I leave behind evidence: unwashed floors, unwashed dishes, neglected cat pals, etc. I waste away, growing a marsupial fat storage pouch, watching episode after episode of Weeds. At this point, with all my thrown together odds and ends, I'm no candidate for an Interior Decorator of the Year award, but I’d settle for an Honorary Very Clean Apartment Award. The first step in conquering a problem is admitting you have one, so I'm making a public confession to de-scandalize my shame. I've scheduled an appointment with a maid for next Tuesday. If I can't get my **** together, I'll pay someone to help me. Maid therapy!

And from this stepping stone, I hope to reestablish an area in my home for creative endeavors such as drawing, writing, and the like. I've discovered that when you lose someone you love you can lose a thousand little pieces of yourself along the way. My family, Erik, my friends, and my work are the thread that keeps my stuffing from falling out. But at home, where I lack both energy and impulse, I unravel. I entertain by distraction so I don't have to think about missing a man who was both a father and a best friend, a person who took up a lot of space and time in my life.

In my eulogy, I said, “The problem with loving someone who has died is that it feels so unrequited.” What was true the week he died is true now. It’s not enough that I was lucky to have had a father who loved me and was proud of me when what I want is a father who loves me and is proud of me in the present tense. I need to move past this useless want so that I can be happy with the lot I had, which was tremendously special and good. More, I need to recognize that what I had then is part of what makes my life so wonderful now. I had a father who helped me to make wise choices. My regrets are minimal in no small part because of his influence. He was also an artist who nurtured my own work, and I feel like I'm staring into the face of his memory and smirking at it.

My life before my dad died is very similar to the life I have now. It’s like two parallel universes kissing. What’s from this one is the passion I once had for creation. I love my family the same, my boyfriend the same, my job the same, my friends the same, but my lonesome self bores me. I hate being by myself. For a girl who was once fiercely independent, this is very troubling, hurtful, and confusing.

So…I am enlisting help from those who care about me. Send me your marching orders, please. I’m taking requests, looking back at my school days where assignments were handed out, and while completing those assignments new inspiration would emerge and my own would work flourish. Tell me what to draw, tell me what to write, and I’ll select the assignment I want to work on each week with a hope that this will resuscitate my dimmed brain spark. I’ll use social media to share the results, if there’s an interest.

Your pal,
Audra