Slamming Doors

Remember, when you were a kid - a door slamming in the wind?  How startling!  Then, the wind would slam the door again.

Today, I heard a door slam.  The sound reverberating in me.   Taking a deep, calming breath, I told myself, "Everything will be okay."

These last two days have been quiet around the house.  My constant companions:  my two dogs.  Historically, it was easy to be by myself - easy to find something interesting to do.  Now, it is difficult to be by myself - difficult to find something interesting to do.  Oh, I still have plenty of activities that I find interesting:  I love to paint, read books, teach myself how to knit, practice my drawing skills, and even watch cooking shows.  But, it is difficult.  Counting the energy cost of every activity.  Every choice needs to be considered, for example: if I paint, what do I trade off in exchange?

Since December, I have had caretakers in my home.  They started off working a few hours a few days a week.  At the time, I could manage to cook an egg and make a very basic meal.  Now, I cannot: no cooking, no cutting, no opening cans.

One of my caretakers called in sick this morning.  "No problem," I thought.  "I am an adult.  I can take care of myself until 4 p.m."   At lunchtime, I heard the door slam.  As I tried to find something to eat that I could manage.  Any peanut butter in the house?  Nope.  Did not matter, could not open the jar anyway. 

The door slammed:  feeding myself is impossible - unless I eat cookies.  My refrigerator and freezer are stocked.  I am the problem in the equation.  Opening cans is not an option.  This morning, I struggled to open a Chobani individual serving yogurt cup.  Knives are unusable.  If the food is not already prepared and plated, I cannot eat.

The door slammed, "You cannot feed yourself.  You cannot be alone."

I am hungry.